A Different Road IV: The Outsider Amidst Turmoil
by black-ink8922
Summary: AU. It’s Harry’s fourth year as a Slytherin; the Triwizard Tournament is returning. Events take a bad turn when Harry is chosen as an unwilling champion. At the end of the final task, he will have to choose a side, but which will it be--light or dark?
1. Guilty Conscious

**Complete summary:** Its Harry's fourth year as a Slytherin, and the Triwizard Tournament is returning after an absence of nearly two hundred years. The deception of the champions and the corruption of the games aren't the only things that are intriguing the Hogwarts students: a new professor has been hired for the position of Dark Arts teacher, the strange Alaster "Mad-Eye" Moody. Events will take a bad turn when Harry is chosen as one of the Hogwarts champions, against the rules and against his will. At the end of the final task, Harry will have to choose a side, but which will it be? Will he be swayed towards good or evil? Perhaps there was good reason for wanting to leave the Triwizard games in the past because the dangerous and death-defying challenges will test Harry in a way he's never experienced before.

How will Harry's years at Hogwarts turn out, now that he's a Slytherin? Will he turn to the Dark Arts and be a follower of Voldemort? Or will he kill Voldemort, or die trying, after he learns of the prophecy? Will Harry's choices lead him down a different road? Follow and you will see...

_"Neither situations nor people can be altered by the interference of an outsider. If they are to be altered, that alteration must come from within."_

_-Anonymous_

**A/N:** WELCOME BACK, GUYS! Year 4 has now begun! Let me restate (if it isn't already obvious) that you NEED to read the first three stories to understand what's going on. I can guarantee you'll be really confused if you don't. **And the warnings are there for a reason! There will be a number of scenes with violence and quite possibly with some language. You Have Been Warned!** Anyway, enjoy the fourth installment of the "A Different Road" Series! I promise this story will leave you at the edge of your seat and have some really surprising twists! Without further ado, the story you've been waiting for…

**Disclaimer: Most characters, places, and plot events were created by the brilliant J.K. Rowling!**

"The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try."

-William Shakespeare

**1**

**Guilty Conscious**

Harry Potter wiped away the sweat that was beading at his forehead with the back of his hand. Despite two small fans (the Dursley's got the larger, new, and better-working ones) and an open window, his room felt like a sauna. He had decided it was best to keep the fluorescent lights off.

_Why, oh why did the air conditioning have to break now?_ he thought, lounging on his bed, wearing a plain t-shirt and shorts. But he knew the answer, or at least he knew what it should be: the universe had something against him. That had to be it because he didn't know anyone else with so many misfortunes.

Luckily, the Dursley's were out for the day, attending an outing from Uncle Vernon's workplace. It was quiet, and he liked that. He really liked that.

Harry got up and opened his trunk in search of something to do, besides play with Hedwig again. In his trunk, he unearthed a medium-sized blue box. Not remembering what it was or where it had come from, he opened it up and found that it was the Illusion-Making Power that Hermione Granger had given him for his birthday last year. It felt somehow strange using it when they weren't friends anymore, but if he didn't do something, he was sure that he would soon die of boredom.

He took the small glass jar from the box and read the directions.

_1. Take a handful of the powder in one hand._

_2. Sprinkle the powder around you. It will disappear after a couple of seconds._

_3. Close your eyes._

_4. Count to five._

_5. Relax._

_Remember: The Illusion-Making Powder lasts half of an hour. Make sure you have the time before doing it! Once you go in, you won't leave until a half an hour is over. But when your times up, you won't want to leave!_

The Dursley's wouldn't be back for hours, so he definitely had time. And he had never been to France, so why not?

Harry opened the jar and grabbed a handful of the powder. It was soft and weightless like fluffy snow and looked almost like it. He scattered it around him as he stood, and immediately it began to fade away before it touched the floor. With one last glance around his dim bedroom, he closed his eyes and counted to five in his head.

_1…2…3…4…_

A breeze brushed past him, tousling his clothes, and Harry opened his eyes, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It looked so real that he felt as if he had Apparated there. Standing, gloriously, in front of him was the Eiffel Tower. A lofty arched structure of criss-crossed metal beams that made his mouth drop. It didn't seem to reflect the sunlight but instead absorbed it, glowing from within.

Harry's feet felt warm and comfortable on the bright green grass. He sat down on the grass, feeling its prickly blades against his legs. For a long time, he just stared at the large, marvelous structure, relishing the cool breezes around him, and later he lay down, spreading his arms out to his sides as he stared up at the brilliant blue sky.

After a half-hour, the vision began to fade with Harry laying on the floor of his bedroom. The stifling air returned to him and he felt as if he were suffocating. He got up, went downstairs to get a cold glass of water, and sat in front of the large square fan in the sitting room, waiting for the Dursley's to end his passive happiness.

* * *

"Clean the dishes, boy!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed from his comfortable cushion on the couch in front of the television. Dudley was sitting beside him, a piece of candy between his pudgy fingers. Aunt Petunia was putting whatever-was-left leftovers into separate containers and into the refrigerator.

Face flushed from the heat, Harry grabbed the plates and glasses from the table and carefully brought them to the sink, turning on the tap to cold. He scrubbed at the crumbs and bits on the plates while his "family" enjoyed an episode of _Drop the Dead Donkey_. They laughed at a joke; Harry pulled the tap forward, blocking out the noise.

For weeks, as the summer progressed, getting more humid, Harry stayed in his room or walked aimlessly around the neighborhood. Dudley seemed to be out a lot with his mates, which pleased Aunt Petunia ("Isn't it nice that my Dudley-kins has lots of little friends?" she asked Uncle Vernon.), as well as Harry since his cousin wasn't around to bother him.

Harry counted down the days until he would be able to stay at Malfoy Manor, which was undoubtedly much cooler, despite not using modern technology, than 4 Privet Drive. And he would be able to have real conversations with Draco, instead of making small talk with Hedwig, who just turned her head at Harry's questions.

Only a few days before his birthday, he found himself sitting on the slide in the park, despite the sunlight beating down his back. He would have taken Hedwig outside with him, but she was prohibited from leaving her cage; Uncle Vernon's orders.

"When will I leave? When will I finally be able to leave?" Harry asked himself.

In his hands was a blank piece of lined paper and Ballpoint pen. He wanted to write a letter to Sirius, but he didn't know what to say. Obviously, Sirius would be happy with anything, even a simple hello, but Harry wanted it to be important, special even. It was ridiculous, he knew that, but he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to please his godfather, of not wanting to let him down. But perhaps it was only because he felt responsible for his current situation.

_S,_

_I'm sitting down on the slide where we met last summer, though you probably don't remember. It must have been a day or two after you had gotten out of Azkaban. It seems like a million years ago. I wish I was living with you, my godfather, instead of with relatives who despise me and who feel no familial connection to me whatsoever. I've known for almost my entire life what it feels like to live in a cell. I must admit, and I know you won't believe me, but I'm the reason you were brought back to Azkaban. I'm the one to blame. I'll explain it all to you when you're out of Azkaban, when the wrongs have been righted. Don't think too fondly of the outside world; it's really not that much better._

_Your friend,_

_H._

He folded the envelope, and then got up, going into the house and into his room. Despite Uncle Vernon's orders, Hedwig was released from her cage and given the letter, before she flew off towards Azkaban prison.

* * *

Harry was awoken three nights later by a tapping at his window. Even in the dead of night, his room was muggy and it was hard enough to get to sleep without being woken up by Dudley's heavy limbs pounding against the floor of the hallway to get something to drink. He climbed out of bed and opened the window further to allow Hedwig entry. After undoing the twine tied to her leg, he gave Hedwig a small piece of bread, stolen earlier from dinner, and opened the letter.

_H,_

_It saddens me to hear that we've both been imprisoned for nearly thirteen years, though in different ways. I wish Dumbledore had thought to put you with a family that would love and cherish you, but I'm convinced he had his reasons. I'm sure he believed that they would eventually warm to you, seeing as you're blood, but perhaps blood means nothing to them. I suppose it's not as important in the Muggle world as it is in the Wizarding one._

_There's no way that my capture was your fault, I will not accept that under any circumstances, and you know that. It was Snape who caught me because he happened to be at the right place at the right time (unfortunately), and he therefore is the one to blame, not you._

_I look forward to being on the outside, despite what you say, so that I can see you. When I get out, when all this is in the past, you can come live with me. You'll never have to see those people you live with again, I promise you._

_I can't believe I almost forgot: Happy 14th Birthday! I wish I were there in person to congratulate you, H. I wish I had a present to give you._

_Your godfather,_

_S._

Harry looked at the calendar on the wall: 31st of July, 1994. "Thanks, Sirius," he said to himself. He wasn't much looking forward to this birthday because he was still at the Dursley's, but at least he was another year older. Once he was finished with Hogwarts, once he was seventeen years old, he will leave the Dursley's and never look back.

He grabbed his quill and inkbottle, and sat down at the foot of his bed, placing the paper against his thigh.

_S,_

_Thanks. To be honest, I didn't even realize it was my birthday. I appreciate you saying it wasn't my fault, but when I explain it all to you later, you'll know what I mean. I know you were initially captured my Snape, but I'm talking about afterwards._

_First time Snape was at the right place at the right time! Ha-ha! I know exactly what you mean. I'm always getting in trouble because of him. You are giving me a present just by writing letters back. That's really all I want. So, thanks._

_H._

He sent away the letter in the morning, wanting to give Hedwig a break from flying.

Harry wasn't expecting much for his birthday, at least not as much as he had gotten last summer now that Granger and Weasley were no longer his friends. But he had never really cared about presents; it was just the idea that someone was thinking of him that made him smile. Despite traveling in Europe, Draco managed to get his gift to him via a large, black owl. Opening the box, he discovered a black leather-bound book entitled _Making Your Own Spells_; there was no name written on the cover or inside. He also found a bag of "gum that lets you breath fire for your friends as long as you're chewing it!"

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday, mate! Hope you're well. Traveling is exhausting but exciting! I thought you would enjoy the book. No one's ever really made their own spells because it's exceptionally difficult – you have to find the right words to obey the outcome. And they would most likely have to be approved by the Ministry, too. The gum is truly entertaining! See you soon,_

_Draco._

_PS—My father and mother wish a happy birthday._

Harry put the book underneath his pillow, promising to read it at night when Uncle Vernon wasn't watching his every move. He then opened the bag of gum and popped on into his mouth. It tasted of cinnamon and faintly of pepper and foreign spices. After chewing for a while, he blew out and a stream of fiery red flames blasted from between his lips, licking his face warmly. Harry smiled cheerfully.

The next much smaller package was from Blaise. It contained a pair of green Quidditch goggles, which the pamphlet said are impermeable to rain and allow him to see clearer, even on a clear day. Blaise's note said: _Busy with preparations for my mum's wedding, but I hope you have a great birthday, Harry!_

The oddest thing was the solitary letter with no package. At first he thought it was from Sirius – maybe he had sent an additional letter? But upon opening it, Harry saw a scratchy handwriting that was strangely familiar, and then he realized that it was Hagrid's.

_Happy Birthday, Harry._

On a separate piece of paper, Harry wrote: i_Thanks, Hagrid. It's good to hear from you. I miss talking to you._

The letter, of course, would have to wait until Hedwig got back from visiting Sirius. Harry was just about to put Hagrid's note on his nightstand when there was a forceful knock on his door. "Harry! Harry, get out of your room!" Dudley yelled from the other side. "My dad says that he wants you to help make dinner!"

To himself, Harry grumbled, "Why can't you help make dinner? I hardly get to eat any of it anyway."

"Harry, open the door!"

"I'll be there in a second!" Harry yelled back.

He heard Dudley say, "Yeah, you better."

* * *

On August 3rd, after receiving a letter from Draco saying that they were back at the manor, Harry packed up his trunk, the thing that contained everything he owned in this world, and took out his Conglomerate Stone. He had told the Dursley's he would be leaving, but had no intention of saying goodbye, so he pressed the gray stone and was instantly transported in front of the already open front door of Malfoy Manor.

Draco was waiting for him, his shoulder leaning casually against the doorframe. "Welcome back!"

"It's been too long," said Harry, smiling. "How was your trip?"

"It was fantastic! I should ask my dad to take you with us the next time we go somewhere." Draco helped him bring his trunk in by grabbing the other end. And then the door was closed by Dobby, who smiled happily at Harry. It was cool in the manor, as if an air conditioner was going, but it was obviously only a spell. "My father's at work and my mother's shopping, so I thought we should practice transforming into our Animagus forms in the garden."

"Sure. My Animagus form could use some exercise anyway," Harry joked, laughing.

The two of them placed Harry's trunk on the floor of the entrance hall, leaving Dobby to take it up, and ran out to the back, transforming easily as the cool air from the manor became the warm air of the breezy outside. It was relaxing to not be human anymore, to not have to worry about rules and common courtesies and everyday things. To be an animal meant freedom; it meant not having to follow the rules placed for you by others, or the even the ones placed in your subconscious by yourself.

Harry and Draco darted among the warm grass, chasing each other, trying to catch the other, as the sun beat down on their furry backs. Harry's dark fur looked warmer, browner in the sunlight, while Draco's pale white hair looked pure and bright. Among the trees, they barked at birds, attempting to catch them when they flew low and Draco even tried climbing up a tree, which failed horribly. They drank from the glistening lake with the wooden bridge that hung over it and splashed each other with their paws.

After many hours, when the light was starting to fade and temperatures were beginning to drop, the two teenage boys changed back into humans and sat in the grass, their backs against a small boulder, as they stared out at the water.

"Did you have fun in Europe?" Harry asked calmly.

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I saw many interesting things and some unusual people. But most of the time I was with my mom. Not that that was bad or anything, but my father was always Apparating or Disapparating or using Portkey's to get to the Ministry so that he could fix something or go to an emergency meeting. It was supposed to be a family vacation, but he was always gone," explained Draco, his eyes on the grass at his feet.

"Merlin, I sound like a little kid, prattling on, whining. I mean, I know my father's not the best buy in the world, and he's always better when you're around for some reason, so I shouldn't really want him to be around…" Draco sighed quietly. "But I do. He's my dad."

"You don't sound like a whiney little kid, you sound like a guy who just wants his father to be around."

"You probably think I'm a twat by complaining about my father when you don't even have one." Draco looked up at Harry. "You can call me a wanker, if you want," he joked slightly.

"Maybe another time," Harry said, a half-smile on his face. Draco nodded.

"So…er, what did you did at your uncle's house? Did you get around to punching him?"

"No, not yet. You could say I'm just waiting for the right moment," Harry responded. "But mostly I just lounged around the house, or cleaned the dishes. The air conditioner broke – er, it's a big box that chills the house – so it was stifling hot. At one point, I thought of standing in the shower to cool down it was that bad."

"Too bad we can't use our magic in the summer yet, you could've just cooled down your room only and leave your family to suffer."

"They would've loved that!" Harry and Draco laughed, and soon after they went inside to get something to eat.

* * *

A reply came from Sirius midmorning the next day. It was another balmy day, but luckily, Harry was comfortably inside. He was in the kitchen, grabbing a cold glass of water for himself and Draco. It was then that Hedwig tapped on the window, which Harry opened, excited to read what his godfather had to say.

However, the reply he got was both unexpected and curious.

_Maybe I can give you a present: a better way to communicate to me, and I to you. But you'll have to get it in secret. When are you going back to the Wizarding world?_

He couldn't help but wonder what he meant, and couldn't send a reply back fast enough, saying that he was already back in the world of magic and mischief.

-------

**A/N:** If you're wondering how Sirius is writing letters in a cell, it's because the guards give him a quill and ink, though they probably would look over the letter first to see what's written and to make sure it doesn't contain anything that he could use to get out.

I'm sorry if the next chapters feels rushed or aren't up to the par you're used to. Usually I look over each chapter about three times, but I haven't had much time to edit. Enjoy them nonetheless and be nice about mistakes!

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 2--A Better Way to Communicate:

Harry receives another letter from Sirius, finally revealing what he meant about a better way to communicate; and after nearly a year, he goes to see Hagrid…


	2. A Better Way to Communicate

p"Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after."

-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

**2**

**A Better Way to Communicate**

_Maybe I can give you a present: a better way to communicate to me, and I to you. But you'll have to get it in secret. When are you going back to the Wizarding world?_

Harry re-read the letter three more times, wondering the new means of communication could be. Was it magical? It must be if Sirius needed him in the Wizarding world to find it. But why did he have to retrieve it in secret?

Draco's owl was used to send the reply to Hagrid, and Hedwig flew off yet again to tell Sirius that he was back among wizards and witches. Since the Malfoy family and Harry were invited to Mrs. Zabini's wedding, they decided to visit Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions in Diagon Alley so that they the two boys could get new dress robes for the celebration. They spent quite some time in there because Mrs. Malfoy wanted to make sure that the fit was perfect and that the color suited them well. After nearly an hour, Harry came out of the store with an emerald green dress robe ("It matches your eyes!" exclaimed Mrs. Malfoy.) and Draco got a dark blue dress robe.

"Now who wants some food?" asked Mrs. Malfoy, her long blonde hair flowing down her back.

"We can get food on our own, you know," said Draco. "Harry and I want to look around a bit. We can get home on our own. Harry has his Conglomerate Stone with him."

"That's fine." Mrs. Malfoy looked slightly disappointed, but tried to hide it by opening her purse. She took out a few galleons and handed them to Draco. "Get yourself some healthy food, nothing too disgusting, you never know what people are dishing out. If you two go into Knockturn Alley, be careful. Harry, keep an eye on him."

"I will, Mrs. Malfoy. Thanks," Harry replied. She walked away briskly.

"_I will, Mrs. Malfoy_," Draco mocked. "Merlin."

"Oh, shut up, Draco. I only said it so that I don't find myself kicked out and on the street."

"They would never do that. Not to you, anyway."

Harry and Draco walked the busy lanes of Diagon Alley, bumping shoulders with many people wearing robes in various shades, as others tried selling them trinkets and bites of food on trays as they passed. They grabbed something to eat and then got ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. They spent most of the day in Diagon Alley and then covered their heads with their hoods, daring to enter Knockturn Alley. They went into Borgin & Burkes to see what new, sinister objects were lurking amongst the dusty shelves. Eventually, they were kicked out when dusk made its appearance, and the two of them decided to go back to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

During breakfast, a few days later, while Harry was eating warm eggs and bacon, Hedwig flew in with the owl who brought the i_Daily Prophet_/i. It was one of the few breakfasts so far they had had with Mr. Malfoy because he usually left before breakfast was called, or sometimes before any of them were awake. He stared at Harry as he picked up Hedwig and stood up.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said, awkwardly. He knew they were curious about what the letter said and who it was from. But he stole away and up into his room.

_H,_

_Your present is called a Two-Way Mirror. I'll have one and you'll have the other. If you speak my name, I'll appear to you in yours, and vice versa. The only problem is the mirrors are at my family's house on 12 Grimmauld Place in London, and I haven't been there in over twelve years, so no doubt the password to get in has been changed._

_I'm assuming you're staying with the Malfoy's; therefore you should come up with an alibi while you retrieve the mirrors. They won't like knowing that you're going to the House of Black, especially since Narcissa is a cousin of mine, incase you didn't know. Besides, no one can know that I'm getting this. They won't allow me to have it here. So you'll have to temporarily transform it. I'm not sure if you know how to do that yet, but perhaps you can get help when you go back to Hogwarts. So there's no need to hurry. Unfortunately, I don't see myself getting out of here very soon._

_If you can get inside, go to the topmost floor and into the bedroom with 'Sirius' on the door. They should be on a shelf somewhere, but look around. Good luck and be careful._

_S._

The first thing that crossed Harry's mind was: _Is that the house Sirius and I would've lived in as family?_ Then it was: _A Two-Way Mirror! That's brilliant!_ And then the last, most daunting thought was: _How the bloody hell am I going to get there, get inside, and transform the mirror to send Sirius? _So many questions, and Sirius didn't seem to have many answers.

Harry put the letter safely under his pillow and then went back downstairs. "Who was it?" Draco asked.

"Er…it was Blaise. You know, complaining about the wedding preparations because his mother is complaining about them." He shrugged and sat down to finish his breakfast. As he grabbed his glass of pumpkin juice, he caught Mr. Malfoy staring at him from the head of the table. Harry looked away.

* * *

The next morning before breakfast, as Harry was pacing in his room, unable to sleep because of the questions still looming in his mind, someone knocked lightly on the door. Broken from the spell of his thoughts, he opened the door to find Mr. Malfoy, dressed impeccably in black, holding Hedwig.

"She just arrived with a letter for you," Mr. Malfoy said, his piercing gray eyes staring at him. He looked down to see the Harry was already dressed and not in his pajamas, as he would have been if he had been woken up. "Were you already awake, Harry?"

"Yes, I couldn't sleep." He took Hedwig from Mr. Malfoy's arm.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I could ask the cook to brew you a sleeping draught for tonight."

"No, thank you, sir I'm fine."

"Well, if you need anything, simply let me know."

"Thank you," Harry said, watching as Mr. Malfoy nodded and then walked away down the dimly lit corridor. He closed the door and set Hedwig down on his trunk. She squeaked at him, and he responded with, "I don't have any food with me right now." After he took the letter off of her leg, she flew off to her cage, most likely for a well-deserved nap.

_Harry, I miss talking to you, too. I don't know if I can forget what you did to Ron and Hermione, but a strong friendship is a hard thing to break. I'm at my cabin if you ever need to talk. A cup of tea is always waiting. Hagrid._

Harry nearly laughed himself to tears. He was so glad that Hagrid wanted to keep their friendship going, even if it had been temporarily disbanded. And then the plan of how he was going to get the mirrors struck him like a slap to his back. If he went over to Hagrid's tonight for tea, he could then go to London and retrieve the mirrors from Sirius' old home. And when he goes back to Malfoy Manor, they wouldn't think any of his being late because they would know he had been improving things with an old friend. Of course, how he was getting from Hogwarts to London was still a problem because he didn't have any place near London on his Conglomerate Stone. And he didn't know how to break into a house, so that would also be a—

_The golden key! _Harry had completely forgotten that Draco had given him a gold key last year, a key that could unlock almost any door. He rummaged through his trunk for a long time until he found it – the tip was an adorned oval and the end had three parts of equal length that jutted out. He put it in his trouser pocket for safe keeping.

That afternoon, when the two boys were alone, Harry told him about the letter. "I got a letter from Hagrid. He wrote that I could go over and talk, and I think its best that I did sooner than later because I want things to get back to normal as much as they can. I know you don't understand."

"No, I don't understand. I don't see why you want to be friends with an oaf."

"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Hagrid. He found me amongst the rubble of my parent's house," explained Harry. "I owe him a lot, probably more than I've been told."

Draco simply nodded at first, and then asked, "When are you going?"

"Tonight. I'm just letting you know that I might come back a bit late because we have a lot to talk about." Harry noticed a saddened look on Draco's face, but he cleared his throat and soon his usual look of indifference returned.

Harry hoped it wouldn't take too long, or that something would go wrong.

* * *

His preparation meant wearing jeans and a t-shirt beneath his thin, cotton robe for comfort, putting his wand and the key in his jean pockets, and holding tightly to his Conglomerate Stone. He sincerely hoped he wasn't forgetting anything. He thought of bringing his Invisibility Cloak, but it was bulky and he didn't see how it would help him break into an old, magical house. After one more look around the room, he touched the green stone and was transported to the Slytherin common room.

It was pitch black. Slightly jarred at the sudden darkness, he waited a moment to put his Conglomerate Stone into his pocket, and instead took out his wand. "_Lumos!_" He shone the light around the room. Everything, couches and tables and torches, was in its place. The only difference was the unsettling silence; this room wasn't meant to be quiet, it was meant to be loud and noisy and full of people. And without those people it seemed lacking and deficient.

He left the room and made his way upstairs through corridors shadowy and still. The Entrance Hall was just as silent and the floors looked newly polished. Outside, the air was warm and breezy, and as he made his way over, he saw that the light in Hagrid's cabin was on.

Harry knocked lightly on the door. Suddenly, he found, he was quite nervous, as if he was about to be interviewed, instead of have tea with a friend. There was some scuffling about inside and heavy footfalls.

"Professor Dumbledore, that you?" Hagrid's somewhat gruff voiced asked.

"Err…no, it's Harry."

Hagrid opened the door so quickly he could feel a gust of wind from it. "Harry? What are yeh doing here?" Harry saw that his brown hair was as thick and frizzy as ever, his body towered over him, but even with the height, he wasn't overwhelming in any way, he was friendly and it showed with his warm eyes, his kind face, and his wide belly.

"I got your letter. I can come back later if you're busy."

"No, no, come in! Yeh wan' some tea?"

"Sure," Harry said, awkwardly. He closed the door and sat down in a large armchair. He saw that Fang was sleeping comfortably on the floor.

"It's been a long time since we spoke last, so how 'ave yeh been, Harry?"

"I guess I've been fine." He looked down at the table. "Better than I thought I would be without Granger and Weasley. I wasn't sure what I was going to do without them for a while. But I've recovered."

"I see yeh call them by their surnames." It was simply a statement, but there was some accusation beneath the words.

"Actually, they called me Potter first and I just followed suit." He gulped and watched as Hagrid poured his tea into a blue mug. "Anyway, how have you been Hagrid? Did you enjoy your first year as a teacher?"

Hagrid brought over a steaming cup, setting it down in front of Harry, who thanked him quietly. "I'm doin' just great. I'm indebted to Dumbledore fer giving me this chance. I really like bein' a professor at Hogwarts. I enjoy teachin' students about unusual creatures because it interests me, so I want students teh know about them and how teh take care of them and all that." He brought over his own cup of tea and sat down. "You migh' want teh know that Dumbledore told me about Sirius and how he's on the side of good. You most likely found out before anyone else."

"No, it was Remus that figured it out first. It was because of a map which reveals what people are moving about the castle, and Pettigrew showed up on it, so he knew that Pettigrew was still alive and that Sirius had been targeting him, and not me. The only reason Sirius got caught was because Snape happened to see the map on Remus' desk and followed him. If he had just minded his own business, Sirius would be a free man now." _And I'd have a real family_, he thought.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't be. You couldn't have known, no one knew. I just wish I had stopped Snape somehow; I wish I had persuaded him to see that Pettigrew was there."

"Snape is stuck in the past. Everyone knows it…'cept him, o' course."

Harry took a few sips of his warm, delicious tea. There was a long pause; the only sound was the slurping of the two of them drinking from their mugs. Then he worked up the courage to finally ask. "How—how have Granger and Weasley been?"

"Every time they come over an' 'ave some of my tea, they feel a little bit better," said Hagrid. "You really hurt them, Harry."

Harry bowed his head and said, "I know, you don't have to me. It hurt more to cause them pain than you know. But I'm glad their doing well."

"Maybe yeh should tell 'em yourself."

"No. They wouldn't want to talk to me, and I don't blame them. But they haven't been especially nice to me either."

"But can yeh blame 'em?" Hagrid asked. He took a large gulp of tea.

"No, I guess not."

" 'Ave you talked the Sirius, Harry? How is 'ee?"

"Well, he certainly doesn't like being locked up again. And he's told me so. But he says that being in there isn't as bad as last time because now I, and you and Dumbledore, know that he's not the bad guy. Now half the job is done for him – the other half is getting the Ministry and the public to see the light, to see that Pettigrew is the traitor. And I'm going to help him."

"How are yeh going teh do that? Help 'im escape from prison?" Hagrid asked. "Yeh know yeh can't do _that_."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, but I know he can't stay in there when he's been falsely imprisoned."

"Yeh're getting' ahead of yerself, Harry. Sirius has only been in Azkaban for three months. Dumbledore knows he's innocent and he has people that he trusts looking for Pettigrew."

"He does? What kind of people?"

"Oh! I shouldn't've told yeh that."

"How does he know that they're people he can trust? They're not part of the Ministry, are they?"

"Not exactly. But I've said too much already. No one's supposed teh know."

"You know I won't say anything. The only person I would tell is Sirius. He would appreciate people helping him," said Harry, urging Hagrid on, trying to convince him to keep talking.

Hagrid looked around the cabin, as if people might be listening in from outside. "They're people that fought with Professor Dumbledore against Voldemort in the first war, so he's positive they're on 'is side. No worries, Harry."

Behind the Ministry's back, people were helping Dumbledore, helping him, and helping Sirius to catch the real murderer. If Pettigrew isn't careful, he might actually find himself within the cold, stone walls of Azkaban.

"I'm not worried anymore. They'll find him. They have to." But Harry wasn't as sure as he let on.

"I hope they find 'im, too."

"Now that Remus is gone, Dumbledore'll need a new Dark Arts professor, won't he? Have you heard anything about who it is?" Harry asked, curious about the person who would be teaching his favorite subject.

"Unfortunately, no. Professor Dumbledore 'as been having problems finding a new teacher. No one seems teh want the job. He'll have teh find one within the next few weeks, or he'll have teh do the position 'imself. And he doesn't 'ave enough time to be a headmaster an' a professor."

"No, I don't think he does. I hope he can find someone before September 1st."

"He's already found some of the substitutes, so it shouldn't be too hard."

"Substitutes? Why would he need substitutes?"

"Professor Dumbledore didn't tell me actually. All he said was that he hired three more professors. We won't know why until September."

Harry drank some of his now cold tea, wondering if perhaps the new teachers had something to do with the upcoming games of the Triwizard Tournament. Would it get so complicated that the school would need extra teachers to accommodate the students? Or was it for another reason? He had no idea, but he couldn't wait to find out.

The conversation stalled. Harry was fishing through his thoughts for something to say or ask, but could only think of the task ahead. "I should be going. It's getting late."

Hagrid nodded and got up. When he came back, he was holding a hard blueberry muffin. "Here take this with you."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking the muffin as he got up from his chair.

"We'll talk again in September, okay?"

"Okay. I look forward to it." Harry opened the door and went down the steps, as Hagrid followed to the doorway. "Bye, Hagrid. Thanks for the tea and the muffin."

"Bye, Harry," Hagrid said, waving. A genuine smile showed; the first Harry had seen on his face in a long time, too long. And he smiled back.

The cabin door closed and the orange light that streamed across the hilly grounds vanished, leaving him in darkness. He took out his wand, said the spell for light, and decided to walk to Hogsmeade Village, hopefully finding some way to get to London without too much hassle.

As he walked down the path, he thought about the conversation he had just had. Did the familiarity of seeing Hagrid, the ease and casualness of their talk mean that they're friendship could go back to how it had been before? Harry would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want Hagrid's friendship. It meant a lot to him, and he regretted losing it.

He also regretted saying those things to Granger and Weasley, but they would never be his friends again and he knew that. He realized that it wasn't even worth it to try getting their friendship back because they would just walk away and never look back.

When Harry got to the cobblestone-covered street of Hogsmeade, it was practically absent of life. No one was walking the street, despite Sirius' capture a few months ago, but he couldn't blame them – the world was still a terrifying place. He thought of leaving, but when he saw a few people still in the Three Broomsticks, he decided a butterbeer couldn't hurt.

"Harry Potter," Madam Rosmerta exclaimed, cheerful, as he sat down at the bar. Her smile was warm and friendly. "What'll it be?"

"One butterbeer, please."

As she pulled the tab and he watched the glass mug fill with the frothy drink, Madam Rosmerta asked, "How have you been? I haven't seen you in quite some time."

"I've been well, thanks."

"I imagine this summer is better than the last. No hiding out, no mass murderer chasing you," she said, handing him the mug.

"Yes, much better!" He held out some coins, but she waved it off, saying it was on the house. "Thanks. But I do need to be somewhere and I don't know how to get there."

"Where do you have to go?" Madam Rosmerta asked, leaning on the counter. He could see the curves of her upper chest and of her hips, and he gulped. When he said London, she asked, "Have you ever taken the Knight Bus? Just go into the street and stick your right hand out and it'll get you wherever you have to go. I've taken it a few times. It's a bit of a bumpy ride though."

"Why didn't I think of that?! I've taken the bus before!"

"Well, it's no one's first choice for a means of transportation."

Harry laughed, recalling being bumped around the bus like the small, metal ball in a pinball machine. "I better get going. Sorry I can't stay longer."

"It's all right. Just be sure to visit during the school year."

"I will," Harry said, making his way to the door. "Thanks for the butterbeer!"

The road was even more vacant that it was before. The night was calm, almost tranquil, but Harry was beginning to get nervous as the time drew nearer to find the Two-Way mirrors. Trying to shake the thoughts from his head, he stuck his wand arm out and not a second later, a bright purple, triple-decker bus had rushed into existence. It appeared so fast that his hair and clothing shook from the wind of it.

The door opened a tall, straggly young man, whom Harry remembered being called Stan Shunpike, said, "Hello and welcome aboard the Knight Bus! This here bus is for the stranded witch or wizard, it's—"

"Uh, yeah, I've taken it before, actually." He didn't want to be rude, but even though he wasn't in a hurry, he didn't want to waste time either.

"Well, come on in, then! What's yor name?" Stan asked, as Harry followed him onto the bus. "You look familiar, you does."

"My name's Harry Potter." The only other person on the bus was a middle-aged man, who was asleep on one of the unstable beds. His snoring – a breathy drumming – was rather loud.

"Hey, look here, Ernie, we got Harry Potter on our bus, and 'ee says he's been 'ere before." Ernie grumbled something in reply, which Harry didn't quite catch, but Stan asked, "So, where to, Harry Potter?"

"12 Grimmauld Place, London." He paid as Stan asked whether he wanted a toothbrush and hot chocolate, but he declined.

"Right, then. London it is."

Harry, entirely unprepared, despite holding tightly onto a metal pole near the front of the bus, was thrown forward as the bus lurched into action. His back slammed against the floor painfully and just as he was about to get up, one of the beds rolled over him with just enough room to not be crushed. He heard Stan laughing at him, but the pimple-besotted man helped him up, as the purple bus continued haphazardly down the streets of England.

------

**A/N:** Lots of stuff going on in this chapter! I hope the chapter didn't feel too crammed or anything, but I am trying to get through the summer rather quickly to get to a most exciting 4th year at Hogwarts for Harry!

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Preview of Chapter 3—Brothers of Night:

Harry enters the abandoned home of the noble and ancient Black family; he walks into the room of a brother he didn't know Sirius had, and encounters someone in the dark house…


	3. Brothers of Night

"There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?"

-George Borrow

**3**

**Brothers of Night**

The bus disappeared into the dark, breezy night, leaving Harry alone on the sidewalk among endlessly yellow-lit windows. Looking around, it was obvious this was a Muggle part of London. Cars were everywhere and he could see the glare of televisions through some of the windows. Neither of which wizards used. But he never thought the Blacks, not that he knew a considerable amount about them, would place their precious home among non-magical people. Based on the people the Malfoy's kept as company, and Narcissa was Sirius' cousin, it's hard to imagine that the Black's would be friends with Muggles. And it's obvious they weren't.

But he supposed that the house had been put there secretly, and most likely was under the protection of the spells used to keep Hogwarts away from the eyes and hears of Muggles.

Harry went up the steps. His heart was starting to beat faster and faster at the thought of breaking into the Black household. What if there was some sort of magical alarm system? He definitely didn't want to be caught by the Ministry and go to Azkaban. He didn't he would make it amongst all the Dementors, but he tried to block those thoughts from his head.

He took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the old lock. With a swish, he said, "_Alohomora!_" Nothing happened.

The golden key felt cool against his skin. He hoped it would work. If he could plead with an inanimate object, this would be the one and this would be the time. He placed the key into the lock, and heard the movements of complicated mechanisms. Without his doing, the key turned left and right. He heard it click loudly, and then the key dropped out of the lock on its own, landing on the floor. Harry picked it up to see that the three protruding parts were different sizes, but then they became equal lengths once again.

Harry tried the handle and the door swung open easily, a loud creak emanating from its hinges. Relief, like a wave, swept over him. He wouldn't be arrested for trespassing…well, at least if he wasn't caught, which so far didn't very seem likely. It was pitch black, darker than the night, and the air within was stagnant and thick with smell of mold and dust. He coughed as he lit his wand, closed the front door, and searched for the stairs. He wished he had brought his Hand of Glory because his wand light was barely enough to see with.

His trainers made footprints on the dust on the stairwell, like prints in the snow. The light of his wand scanned the cobwebbed ceiling and then he saw the decapitated row of house elf heads, and Harry jumped back in alarm and the beginning of a low scream escaped from his mouth before he abruptly stopped himself. He continued upwards. The wallpaper was peeling; falling downwards toward the floor like drooping flowers. After some time, he got to the topmost landing, and without looking at the name on the door, went into the nearest bedroom.

Harry immediately knew he had entered the wrong room.

It was decorated in green and silver, a familiar color to him, but certainly not for Sirius, who had been in Gryffindor. A large, dusty emblem of the House of Black was hung ornately and proudly over the bed, which was also dressed in the colors of Slytherin. On a desk in the corner was a small picture frame – two dark-haired boys, the younger barely older than five, were sitting on the floor. The face of the older one, Sirius, had been burned away. A space of wall nearby had been used to post up carefully-ripped pieces of parchment. The words were covered in a layer of dust, but when Harry wiped it away with his fingers, he saw that they were news clippings about Voldemort and his questionable activities around England.

Not that he was a great at determining how long dust has been settling, but the room looked as if it hadn't been lived in for much more than twelve years. It looked like a crypt it was covered so thickly in dust and cobwebs, exactly how he imagined an underground place of rest would be. He didn't know where Sirius' brother was, or if he was even still alive, because Sirius had never spoken of him, but no one had been in this room for a very long time.

As Harry left the room, he saw that the plaque on the door read: _Regulus_.

The other door said _Sirius_. Now he was in the right place. The room was the complete opposite of the previous one – red and orange of Gryffindor adorned the walls and the bed, whose blanket and sheets were rumpled. The walls were covered in large posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls, baring their skin for the viewer. Harry chucked at the sight. _Figures Sirius would have those_, he thought.

The shelving-unit and all the various objects were draped, thickly, in cobwebs, so it hard to determine what was what. It took a few minutes of using the tip of his lit wand to prod the objects until he found the two objects he was looking for. Harry made use of the blanket to clean away the remaining grime. The two small, square mirrors were not ornate or stunningly beautiful, they were plain and homely and perfect in their simplicity. And he liked them.

Harry couldn't wait to give one of them to Sirius, he couldn't wait to speak with him through the mirrors, as if he was in the room with him, and not locked away in Azkaban. It would be so much easier to talk with the Two-Way mirrors instead of writing letters, which took days to mail and days to retrieve. With these reflective devices, he could go to Sirius with his troubles instantly and get immediate advice.

Now all he had to do was charm one of them and get it to Sirius. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to go about that. He decided it would be best to wait until he was back at Hogwarts, because if he couldn't figure out how to temporarily transform the mirror on his own, then he could always go to Dumbledore. Or at least, he hoped his headmaster would help.

Harry carefully placed the mirrors in his robe pockets.

He used his wand light to look around the room that Sirius had once called home. Would he and Sirius have called this place their home if Sirius had been freed? If Pettigrew hadn't gotten away—no, if he hadn't let Pettigrew get away? Would he have finally gotten away from the Dursley's permanently? Would he have been free of—?

The light of his wand found something pale in the dark, something standing in the doorway. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he stumbled back, surprised. An old, ugly house elf, dressed in a ratty tea towel, was staring at him, a look of deep loathing on his face and in his narrowed eyes.

"Oh, I…err…" Harry tried, but he didn't know what to say. Did the house elf belong to the House of Black, even after all these years of seclusion and the complete absence of another being's life? Was that its curse – to be here, despite no one to assist?

"A boy in my mistress' house; doesn't belong here," the house elf said, talking in a low tone to himself, even though he was staring at Harry. "What is he doing here? What does he want? Why is he in filthy, Muggle-loving Sirius' room? He better not go into Regulus' precious room. He better not disturb Regulus' things. If my mistress saw him she would scream, she would, she wouldn't let him leave without an explanation."

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I just—"

"The boy is in unworthy, disgraceful Sirius' room. Horrible boy; dishonored his whole family."

"I didn't mean to upset you or your house, house elf," Harry said. "Who was your mistress?"

Still grumbling, the house elf left the room and began walking down the hallway, and then down two flights of stairs. Harry followed, curious. The house elf pushed open the door, which Harry's wand light danced upon, but he knew the house elf would have been able to do it in the gloom, his eyes accustomed to the darkness after so long with no light. The house elf turned to the nearest wall – a wall covered entirely in a tapestry of the Black family tree – and pointed to a name, as he said, "My mistress."

Harry looked to see that he was pointing to _Walburga Black_. Beneath the connecting name of hers and _Orion Black_ was _Regulus Black_ and the burned out spot of what had clearly been _Sirius Black_.

"What happened to Regulus?" Harry asked, wondering if the house elf would actually give him an answer.

"Boy wants to know about poor, dead Regulus, a good boy to his mother and father and the Dark Lord. Never again do a task for Dark Lord. Never take another drink again. Too much to drink. Kreacher couldn't do it, Regulus couldn't do it. Poor Regulus, Kreacher's master, gone. Kreacher couldn't do it, he couldn't do it."

Harry had no idea what he was saying. It was obvious that the house elf had been driven to near insanity, as evidenced by his mumbling, from living alone. Also clear was the fact that Regulus was long dead and had worked for Voldemort, but what had he drunken too much of? Maybe he had drunken too many firewhiskeys or another kind of Wizarding alcohol, and it had killed him. He didn't know. But what couldn't the house elf, who he supposed was named Kreacher, do? What had he tried and apparently failed to do? And had it been for his master, Regulus?

"I'm sorry about your loss, Kreacher. Err…Regulus seemed like a…nice boy."

"Boy is complimenting Kreacher's master. Maybe boy isn't dreadful, maybe comes from decent pureblood family. Boy can come back again if he wishes. Maybe Kreacher show him Regulus' most precious item. Now boy leave Kreacher to clean."

Kreacher turned around and left the room. Harry's brows furrowed. What cleaning did he mean? This place hadn't been swept or dusted in over a decade. Harry glanced at the beautiful tapestry beside him, and then checked his watch, realizing that it was already after midnight. He had to get back to the Malfoy's before they sent a search party for him.

Harry took out his Conglomerate Stone and realizing that Kreacher had invited him back, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to come back, he pressed his wand against the transparent black rock. "_The House of Black!_ He watched the stone become as dark as black ink. Now he could return whenever he desired, but first he had to get back to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

"I have to take a break!" Harry said the next day, his lungs working overtime from the rush of flying around on his wonderfully fast Firebolt. He touched ground and let himself collapse on the warm grass, not caring that he was probably getting dirt on his robe. He heard a swish as Draco landed near him on his older, but still expensive broom.

"Oh come on, you can't just lay there while I'm trying to be faster than you! You're just scared because you think I can actually beat you," Draco said, jokingly.

"I don't think that at all. I _know_ you'll never be faster than me, but I'm still human and I still need to take a break. The only reason you don't need one is because you haven't been trying hard enough because you know you'll _never_ beat me!"

"Yeah, we'll see about that!" Draco exclaimed. "Now, let's go!"

Harry got up from the ground and mounted his broomstick. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"Definitely. Now stop stalling."

Harry and Draco, holding tightly to the wood of their brooms, bent their knees and then jumped up, and that was all the movement their brooms needed to gear into action. Like the flash of a camera, but even quicker, they were soaring gracefully through the air, meandering around the trees and over the lake. They spent a long time flying around Malfoy Manor's garden, before deciding to call it quits, more because they were hungry, and not because they were tired.

Harry went to his room to put his broom away and to change into that didn't smell of sweat and dirt. He saw Hedwig sleeping in her cage, which was at the foot of his bed. Seeing her made him realize that he still needed to send a letter to Sirius telling him that he had gotten the mirrors. And he also wanted to ask about Regulus, the house, and the creepy house elf.

Now seemed the best time to do it. He grabbed parchment and ink. But couldn't find his quill.

In the search through his trunk, Harry dug up the white quill Granger had given him in first year – the quill that would show the words only for the intended audience. This was perfect. Now he could write whatever he wanted (not that he had been apprehensive in what he had chosen to say before), but now he could really write what he pleased without worry of it being read by others. At least until he found out how to give the mirror to Sirius.

With a regular quill, he wrote: _S, I have many things that I want to talk to you about, but I'm not sure exactly how to ask. I found out about many interesting things when I went to visit a certain house. I hope you can clarify some things for me. I hope you're doing well. Your friend, H._

In the special quill, Harry wrote much more:

_S._

_The first part if for the guards. This second part, however, is for you, and I know you're wondering how the guards won't see it, but I have an extraordinary quill that will allow only you to read this._

_What I wrote in the first part is true though. I've learned about some very interesting things, and I have many questions for you. First off, I got into your old house and I was able to retrieve the mirrors. I'll figure out how to get one to you, I promise. Secondly, when I was in the house, I accidentally went into the wrong bedroom. Why didn't you tell me you had a younger brother? I'm aware now that Regulus was a follower of Voldemort and that he's dead, but why keep it from me?_

_And I also met someone while I was in your room – nice posters by the way! Kreacher seems to have been there for a really long time, even though no one lives there anymore. He talked to himself about how you're a bad child, and then when I asked him about the mistress he kept referring to, I followed him to a room with a large tapestry with your family tree. I'm sorry you were been burned out. But why is Kreacher still there? And he said something weird when I asked what happened to Regulus. He said that Regulus died because he had too much to drink and that he couldn't do it, but he didn't say what "it" was, and then Kreacher said that he himself couldn't do something. Do you know what he was talking about? Does that make any sense to you at all?_

_Anyway, all is well with me. So far this summer is faring better than all the others I've had. Next week, I'm going to Blaise Zabini's mother's wedding. Never been to a wedding before, so it should be fun. I hope you're doing okay, Sirius._

_H._

He sent the letter off with Hedwig, feeling slight regret for accusing Sirius of not wanting to tell him about his brother and the dark, sinister home he had lived in as a boy. But he hoped his godfather didn't take it badly. And he hoped he had some sort of explanation for what Kreacher had said.

Now, to get some food in his growling stomach. Harry went downstairs and into the dining room, where a plate of warm food awaited.

* * *

The end of summer was drawing closer, as the temperature rose and the days got shorter in length, and Harry felt that he had enjoyed his time off from school as much as he possibly could. The wedding was only in a few hours time, so Harry had dressed in his new emerald dressing robe and was now trying to smooth down his hair with some hair foam from Draco.

As he ran his foamy fingers through his hair, attempting to make it flatten and look effortlessly suave, Hedwig came in through the open window in Draco's room, in through the open connecting door. She landed on his bed and chirped to get his attention.

Harry peeked into Draco's room – he was also slicking back his white blond hair, but he seemed to be doing a much better job of it because his hair actually obeyed him by staying down. He closed the door and opened the letter from Sirius.

_H,_

_I'm glad you were able to get them! Now I just wish I had one and one of what you used to make the last letter very special. Firstly, I didn't tell you about the house or my relatives because I didn't think you had to know about a family that I never felt a part of, or a brother I never had a real relationship with. __He was younger than me, and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.* He followed my parent's whole pureblood mania and went on to be a follower of Voldemort. I'm not sure what Kreacher said to you about drinking too much because as far as I know he wasn't a drinker. The part about not being able to do something might be related to a task assigned from Voldemort, but I wouldn't know about what he had to accomplish because we weren't what you'd call close. __From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death._* _But you shouldn't completely trust what Kreacher says, considering he's been in a dead, vacant house for nearly ten years (my mother died in 1985 – I got a government-written letter) and has probably been driven insane from the lack of human communication. You said yourself he was talking to himself, which he never used to do. Believe me, he used to yell, not mutter._

_I put those Muggle posters up to, of course, piss off my parents. I had a good laugh when I did that, and again when they found out! One of the best moments of my life. I wish I could tell you some exciting things happening in my life, but sadly the daily schedule of things to do here remains the same – stay inside and dwell on the life I should be enjoying. At least I have you and your letters, Harry. You're the one constant in my life now._

_S._

Harry smiled genuinely at the scribbled words on the page. _At least I have you and your letters, Harry. You're the one constant in my life now_. It felt good to be cherished by a family member for the first time in his life. He had never experienced anything remotely close to affection or tenderness by his uncle, aunt, or cousin, so to finally encounter that felt really good—no, it felt better than good, it felt amazing.

"Harry! Harry, are you ready to go?" Draco called from the other room. "My father says the Portkey to Zabini's mansion goes in fifteen minutes!"

Harry stuffed the letter under his pillow quickly, not wanting to be caught with it, and turned toward the connecting door as Draco came through it. "Yeah, I'm ready. Is my hair staying down, or should I use more of that foam stuff?"

"No, it's good, really," Draco said, walking over and looking at his hair. "You look quite different with tame, slick hair. It suits you. Maybe a cute girl will ask you to dance at the wedding, Mr. Debonair." He laughed, teasing Harry.

"You know, maybe I will dance with a cute girl. And maybe some old man will ask you to dance!"

"Oh, ha-ha, very funny," Draco replied with a mock laugh. "Let's get downstairs before my parents leave without us."

The two boys, smoothing out their robes at the last minute, entered the Entrance Hall of the manor to find Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy waiting. Mr. Malfoy, light blond hair falling down his back, was wearing a velvet black dressing robe that contrasted nicely with his ivory skin. Beside him, Mrs. Malfoy, with light blue eyes cheerful, blonde hair cascading, and face made up beautifully, was dressed in an icy blue, silk dressing robe that matched her eyes.

Mrs. Malfoy smiled at him and said, "You boys look good! Harry, your smoothed hair suits you quite well. You should do it more often."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Mr. Malfoy checked his pocket watch expertly. "Time to go. Everyone touch the Portkey." It was then that Harry saw that in the palm of Mr. Malfoy's hand was a broken alarm clock with cracked glass. He reached his hand over and placed his index finger on one of the slanted, bowled bells. "_3…2…1…_"

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* Quotes taken from Order of the Phoenix.

**A/N:** The only thing not canon in Regulus' room was the picture of Sirius and him. I made that up. Everything else is canon. And for the sake of the story, let's just let slip the fact that Harry isn't allowed to use magic during the summer. I only realized after I had submitted the second chapter that he should have brought his Hand of Glory, instead of using his wand for light. But after this he won't use magic until school starts.

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Preview of Chapter 4—Mercy:

Harry attends the wedding of Mrs. Zabini and meets some very interesting people, one of which wishes to harm him…


	4. Mercy

"We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves."

-George Eliot

**4**

**Mercy**

"_3…2…1…_"

After the swirling stopped, and the colors and sounds focused, Harry saw that he and the Malfoy's were standing in an open, grassy garden. Rows upon rows of white chairs were lined up facing a beautifully-adorned wedding alter made of spiraled pillars and purple flowers. Further down the grassy expanse, a large, crème-colored tent of airy, see-through fabric had been put up over dozens of large circular tables with indigo flower arrangements and glassware. Over a hundred witches and wizards dressed in brightly colored dressing robes were standing among the chairs, in the aisle, and around the lawn chatting away excitedly. The buzzing of the people grew louder as Harry followed Draco and his parents into the throng of eager guests.

Harry searched the wedding guests for Blaise or another familiar face, but didn't see anyone. As he passed by, some of the people turned and stared at the scar on his forehead that was usually covered by his messy black hair. He shouldn't have smoothed back his hair. He was starting to hear them whisper his name under their breath.

"Harry! Draco!" someone called cheerfully from a distance.

Harry turned to see Blaise emerge from a sliding door in the back of the white stucco mansion of immense proportions. The building was so vast it was as if three separate houses had been put together in the same Georgian style – there were dozens of large square windows, tall, smooth pillars, and a few balconies with iron railings.

As Blaise came closer, it was easier to see that he was dressed flawlessly in a dark purple dressing robe. A large smile shone on his face, but he seemed worn out and tired. "How are you guys doing?" he asked, extending his arm, which both Harry and Draco shook.

"The question is how are _you_ doing?" Draco asked. "This looks like it took some time to put together, even with magic."

"Merlin, it took too damn long, if you ask me. My mum wanted it to be just right, and it's her wedding so everyone had to do it perfectly or she yelled at them to fix it. Believe me, after seven husbands, she's a pro at this."

"So who's the lucky guy?" Harry asked, turning to look at the crowd.

"He is," Blaise said, pointing toward a tall, broad-shoulder black man with thick, dark hair, smooth skin, and too white teeth. "His name's Colin Gray and he works mostly abroad doing financial transactions for the Ministry. I don't really know the details, but I know he's bloody rich. And my mum likes him, so that's what matters most."

"Well, congratulations, Blaise," Harry replied.

"Thanks. Well, I have to go help my mum with some last minute things, but go mingle or something and I'll see you mates soon." He rushed off quickly, leaving Harry and Draco to stare at the crowd of people that seemed to have swelled in the last few minutes.

After some time, a bunch of women in white robes, clearly from a wedding preparation company, came out to escort the guests to their seats and to get them to quiet down, before the ceremony started. Harry was escorted to a seat with the Malfoy's, and not soon after a light melody began to play. From the sliding door of the house not far away, a deep purple carpet rolled out smoothly, going through the aisle to end at the alter, where a man in a black robe now stood next to Colin Gray.

A cute, little black girl with a bow in her curled hair and wearing a purple dress walked out, smiling broadly. She was holding a small wicker basket and was throwing white petals in front of her. A man and a woman, dressed in lavender, walked out next, and then another couple, and another, each taking their place respectively on either side of the alter.

Everyone was turned in their seats, facing the back to get a glimpse of the bride. Suddenly, she walked out, her arm interlocked with Blaise's, and no one could have been prepared for the wonderful sight she was. She was wearing a stunning white dress whose straps fell off the shoulder, silver embellishments around the bust made her skin dazzle in the light, and a coy but cheerful smile.

Mrs. Zabini and her son made their way up to the alter. The look on Colin Gray's face was that of amazement and slight disbelief, as if he wasn't sure that this was happening. Harry watched as Mrs. Zabini took the hands of Mr. Gray. The wizard behind them looked at the guests and said, "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…"* Harry listened as the man, probably the equivalent of a judge or religious patron, spoke about the beauty and merriment of the wedding. "Do you, Colin Gray, take Clara Zabini to be your wife?"

"I do."

"Do you, Clara Zabini, take Colin Gray to be your husband?"

"I do."

"Then I declare you bonded for life." As the two newly married couple leaned in and kissed, her arms around his neck, his around her body, the wizard waved his wand, letting silver stars fall lazily upon them. They guests applauded, standing from their seats.

After cheerfully congratulating the newlyweds, the crowd moved towards the large tent in small groups. Harry was with the Malfoy's when they passed on their good wishes to Mrs. Zabini and Mr. Gray. "You've found a fine man, Clara,** and you, Colin, have chosen a lovely, most beautiful woman to be your life-time companion," Mr. Malfoy said, reserved but with a hint of a smile on his face.

And Harry couldn't agree more to the sentiment of Mrs. Zabini being beautiful – he, and the rest of the guests, could barely stop looking at her. Her light brown skin looked so smooth and soft in the late afternoon sunlight; her dark eyes, with their long lashes, almost sparkled; she had plump, dark red lips, and though she was tall and thin, she was far from lanky; in fact she was curvy in just the right places, and her white dress showed it well.

"You look simply stunning, Clara," Mrs. Malfoy said, smiling genuinely. She leaned forward and the two women kissed each other on the cheek twice.

"Thank you, Lucius, Narcissa. You're too kind," Mrs. Zabini said, a glow about her.

With so many waiting to see the new married couple, they moved quickly out of the way and into the tent, where the guests could get some auderves, sparkling drinks, and alcohol. Harry and Draco separated from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy once they were beneath the billowing fabric of the tent. People were standing around, laughing and talking animatedly, while holding glasses of fizzing drinks. Silver trays were floating around on their own, carrying small mouthfuls of tarts and sandwiches until dinner would be served. Draco picked up something from a tray and popped it into his mouth, then turned to Harry, and, nodding, said, "Not bad."

Harry grabbed one, too. It was a small cracker with cheese and meat, and it was delicious. A tray of the fizzing drinking went by, but when he tried to take one it curved away from his grasp. Draco started laughing. "Those fizzing ones are alcoholic, so don't even try." He grabbed two glasses of butterbeer and handed one to Harry.

As they were walking around, they came upon Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. They had taken one of the trays and were eating all the food on it by themselves. Since they had their backs to them, Draco walked behind them and with a lowered voice said, "_What do, boys, you think you're doing?_"

The three boys turned around quickly, shock and slight hesitation on their faces. Harry and Draco laughed, as Nott said, "Don't do that."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but…I'm not," replied Draco. "It was just too fun."

Harry grabbed one of the cheese and meat appetizers and looked around at the guests that were starting to settle into their chairs. With no established seating arrangements, he saw that Draco's, Crabbe's, and Goyle's parents had sat with Nott's father. The two extra seats were being taken by a good-looking middle-aged couple with black hair and pale skin. There was something about them that looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Who are they?" Harry asked Draco, who looked toward the table.

"Oh, those are Parkinson's parents. She's probably hanging around her somewhere," he said nonchalantly. "C'mon, let's get some seats." Harry and the other boys followed and they sat at a table near the house and away from their parents. He sat between Draco and an empty seat, but it didn't remain that way long. He heard it slide away from the table smoothly and he turned quickly to see that it was Pansy Parkinson.

Harry had to admit that although he knew her to be snobbish and annoying, she looked rather lovely in an ice blue, scoop-necked dress that ended at her knees. She had hung her dressing gown of the same color on the back of her chair already. The color made her skin look like porcelain.

"Hello, Potter," she drawled smoothly, sitting down.

"Hello, Parkin—"

"What are you doing here, Parkinson?" Draco asked, none too kindly.

"I'm sitting down at a table with my fellow Slytherins. Do you have a problem with that, Draco Malfoy?"

"Why can't you sit with Daphne Greengrass or something?"

"She's sitting with her little sister and her parents. If you have a problem with me sitting here, then you can leave," Parkinson responded. Draco waved her off, and then turned to talk to Goyle. "Sorry about that."

"Is there something going on between you and Draco?" Harry asked, feeling that he should instead be asking his best friend.

"It's not really a big deal. We've known each other since we were born, and sometimes he just gets these hissy fits, if you haven't already noticed."

"Yeah, but why is he mad at you? No offense, but I didn't even know you two were friends."

"Knowing someone your whole life doesn't necessarily make you friends, Potter," said Parkinson. "But we've been fighting almost all of last year, ever since it came out that you had been friends with that blood traitor and the Mudblood. I think you guys had a fight and he came to ask me for advice, but I guess I gave him some advice he didn't like, honestly I can't even remember what I said, so he yelled at me, and I said that you were a blood traitor and that it made him one, too. Obviously he didn't like that. But I mean no offense, I didn't say that against you, Potter, I was just taking a jab at him.

"Anyway, we've been mean to each other ever since. But don't worry; eventually he'll get over it."

Harry nodded and said, "I take no offense, really. I just didn't know that you two knew each other so well."

"Draco's known everyone in this room since birth practically. Everyone that is, except you."

After everyone had been seated, men and women in black and white robes came around to the tables to take orders of what the guests would like to eat – chicken, fish, or vegetable. It was after the orders were taken that the music started from somewhere indistinguishable and the conversation between people grew louder. Some couples got up and danced on the square space of grass in the middle of all the tables. A little while later, plates with steaming food floated slowly into the tent, setting itself down in front of the intended person.

The adults were getting looser of tongue and body as empty glasses of fizzing drinks became more prominent on the white tables. More people were dancing, leaving dressing robes on their chairs, to show collared shirts and pressed trousers or colorful, fancy dresses. Harry was having a great time, laughing with the other boys at the table. And even Parkinson had joined the conversation. They were pointing toward the adults that were making a fool of themselves.

At one point, when no one had been looking, Draco had gotten up and stolen two glasses from a nearby table. He handed one to Harry. "Cheers," said Draco, letting it clink against Harry's glass. He watched his friend take a gulp first. He closed his eyes as he strained to take swallow it, and then looked up after he had. "Merlin, that stuff is strong, but good, really good."

Harry looked into the glass. The champagne-colored drink was fizzing, like soda that had just been poured. He closed his eyes and brought the cup to his lips. It was not how he intended for it to taste. He thought it would be sweet with a hint of alcohol, but it was tart, almost sour and intense on his taste buds. And he loved it.

"Wow!"

"Good, eh?"

"Yeah. Try sneaking some more."

Draco nodded, a smirk on his pale features. "You try that table." They both managed to get another glass and gulped it down fondly. But didn't try again because Mr. Malfoy came over with Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, and Mr. Nott.

"Are you boys enjoying yourselves?" Mr. Malfoy asked, to which they all nodded. "Miss Parkinson, you look lovely. You should wear that color more often."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, raising her chin to the compliment. She smoothed down the creases of her dress.

"Don't be too rowdy." He then leaned over and whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear, "Do not embarrass me by carrying on foolishly, Draco." He tapped one of the legs of Draco's chair with his black cane, and then walked away, the other men trailed sternly behind him. Harry watched them go – they left the tent, crossed the grass, and entered the backdoor of the house. He saw that a few other men had followed in their path.

"My father always thinks he can control me and every isingle/i thing that I do," Draco muttered angrily. He got up, grabbed a fizzing drink, and downed it in one gulp.

The buzzing of the people around Harry, though he was enjoying himself, was starting to become too much, and he needed to spend some time in a quiet place. Coincidentally, he really had to pee, and when he asked where the loo was, a woman in black and white said it was down the hall, the first door on the left. He left the table, as Crabbe and Goyle continued to hark down unhealthy amounts of food, and made his way over to the mansion. It was still light out, but soon the evening would ware thin and night would fall.

After opening the sliding door and walking inside, he took the directions the woman gave him, but as he turned the handle to the white-painted door, Harry heard voices and someone laughing. He walked out of the long hallway and into a more open space. The wooden floors were polished to perfect – he could almost see his own reflection as he walked, following the sound.

Eventually he found himself in the main hall and it was breathtaking. Mrs. Zabini had exquisite taste. The ceiling, though white, had carvings of vines and various types of flowers; there were eight Doric-style pillars, four on each side, reaching from floor to the ceiling; the capitals at the top of the pillars had leaves carved them, which were colored in gold Leif; the walls were painted a soft light blue, and there was a second-floor balcony that extended almost all around the room.

The voices carried and it was easy to tell that they were somewhere to the left. Between the two middle pillars was another hallway, and once he had gone past them he saw light flowing across the floor from a door that had been left ajar.

"Is there something else at this wedding besides that fucking fizzing crap?" someone said. "I'm a man, I need a real drink."

Harry heard some shuffling around the room, and then a man exclaimed, "Aha! A bottle of firewhiskey."

"Now we're talking," the first man said.

Inching closer, Harry was able to peek in. The room was clearly a parlor – the walls were made of a cream-colored stone, there were a few windows with golden yellow draperies, and the numerous lounge chairs and armchairs around the room ranged from deep red to mustard yellow. About ten men were either reclining comfortably on the chairs or leaning against the long table that housed the glasses and the bottle of firewhiskey.

Mr. Parkinson, the one who had spoken out about the drink, was pouring the firewhiskey into his own glass, and then poured some into the men standing nearest to him. Mr. Malfoy was sitting in an armchair by the window, his cane resting against the armrest.

The men didn't seem to be talking much, just relaxing. But Harry wanted them to speak, these men who hadn't said a word to each other outside, but were now all gathered together in this room. He wanted to know why they had met in there.

Unfortunately, Harry had to pee really badly and was practically holding himself to keep it in. He had had too many non-alcoholic drinks to not to have to go to the loo. So he skittered off quickly, going back to the small room he should have used before.

When he had finished, he went back into the main hall, but heard a set of footsteps coming from the parlor. Harry pretended to be examining the room by looking up at awe. He didn't turn to look who it was until he heard, "Ah, Harry."

Mr. Malfoy was standing between the two pillars, a smug smirk on his face. "Beautiful room, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Would you like something to drink – a real drink, I mean? We'll keep it between us," Mr. Malfoy said. He didn't wait for Harry to reply, and just motioned for him to follow. He invited him into the parlor where the other men were now talking and laughing. Mr. Malfoy closed the door behind them, and the others turned to look at him, intrigued.

"What's this, Lucius? Are you going to let a young boy drink alcohol with us? What'll his parents think?" Mr. Parkinson asked, a few strands of dark hair falling into his face. His face was redder than before.

"This isn't just any boy, this is Harry Potter, a good friend of my son's," Mr. Malfoy replied.

Mr. Parkinson stood up. The other men drew closer, converging, to get a better look at him. "So it us. How are you, Potter? Are you enjoying the party?"

"Yes, Mr. Parkinson."

The man smiled at being addressed by name and looked around at the other men. "Ah, I have the honor being known by Harry Potter!" The other men laughed.

"Harry, would you like something to drink?" Mr. Malfoy asked.

Before Harry could say that he wasn't thirsty, a large, broad-shouldered man who Harry didn't know spoke out in a rough voice. "Why are you all being so nice to the little bugger?" The man's face was red and the glass he was holding was empty. He staggered forward to look at Harry, who wanted to take a step back but refrained.

"This _boy_ is responsible for the death of the Dark Lord, and here we are giving him a nice, little drink? He should be asking us for mercy."

"Selwyn, the war is over. Why don't you just have another drink?" Mr. Parkinson suggested.

"_I don't want another damn drink!_"

Someone in the back sniggered and said, "He's already had too many anyway." Selwyn clearly didn't find that remark very funny because he threw his glass to the wooden floor, letting it shatter into hundreds of shiny, little pieces, and then whipped out his wand, brandishing it toward the group of men where the voice had spoken. The room was silent as a grave. He then turned back around and pointed his wand at Harry, who reached quickly into his own robes and pointed his at the man called Selwyn.

"Come on, boy, let's see what you can do."

"I don't want to fight you," Harry said.

"I wouldn't want to fight me neither."

Harry glanced quickly at Mr. Malfoy, who seemed to be enjoying the scene, but he looked at Harry and took a few steps forward.

"Selwyn, put your wand away. This is a wedding; let's not make it a funeral."

Harry stared into the dark eyes of the man standing only a few feet away from him. Selwyn's top lip was curled up in distaste and anger. Harry had no reason to hate the man, but he obviously had many reasons to hate Harry. Both wands were pointing at the other's chest.

The door opened, but Harry didn't turn to see who had joined the little party. "What's going on here?" a familiar voice asked. He would know that voice anywhere – Severus Snape.

"Ah, Snape. A tad late to the wedding, I see," drawled Mr. Malfoy.

Selwyn cleared his throat, then lowered his wand and placed it in his robes. He grabbed Mr. Goyle's glass, took a quick swig, and left the room.

Harry, still grasping his wand tightly, let it fall to his side. No one said a word for a moment, and then Mr. Malfoy chuckled. The others did so as well, trying to break the awkward air. "Don't mind him, Harry, he's just bitter." The light blond man took his wand from his cane and cleaned up the glass from the floor with a swish and a mutter. "You can put your wand away now."

"Oh…right." But he didn't. He held onto it.

Harry looked quickly at Snape – his greasy hair was straighter than usual and he was dressed in a black dressing robe. Maybe he should be thankful Snape had showed because he wasn't sure what would have happened if he hadn't.

"Why don't you go back to the party, Harry?" Mr. Malfoy said.

Harry merely nodded and left the room, feeling Snape's eyes follow him. He walked through the main hall slowly, unsure that he wanted to go back to the noise of people celebrating. It was clear to him now that the reason all those men had gathered together, seemingly strangers to each other, was because they were all Death Eaters. He was looking so intently at the floor that he failed to notice the sound of footsteps behind him.

Someone grabbed him forcibly from behind. A large, sweaty hand was placed over his mouth and the other held his right wrist – the hand with his wand. The man dragged him backwards, across the main hall, and through the pillars opposite the ones leading to the parlor. Harry tried to resist, tried to get the man off of him, tried screaming and kicking, but the person was too strong. The man found a dark, open room and pushed him in roughly. Harry nearly fell to the floor, but managed to catch himself. He turned around hurriedly, raising his wand, to find that the man already had his own pointed at Harry. The mostly empty room, containing shelves of books and a desk in the corner, was dim but light enough for him to see that it was Selwyn.

"The boy who defeated the Dark Lord," the man said in his rough voice. "It's so nice of you to attend a wedding where half the people want you dead. Oh, don't tell me you failed to notice all the looks you got." A deep, haughty laugh came from his mouth.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

"Just to see you squirm a little. Don't worry, I won't kill you. I merely want to hear you beg me for mercy."

------

*Speech taken from _Deathly Hallows._

** Mrs. Zabini's first name was made up, as was the description of her.

**A/N:** The man Selwyn is a canon Death Eater. There isn't much about him, except that he has a rough voice, so I decided to use him as a bitter character. I hope you liked him, or should I say despised him!

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 5—Dancing in Circles:

Harry has a small confrontation with Selwyn; Pansy Parkinson asks him to dance, much to Draco's dislike, and he and Draco go to Diagon Alley…


	5. Dancing in Circles

"When in doubt or danger, run in circles, scream and shout."

-Dr. Laurence J. Peter

**5**

**Dancing in Circles**

Someone grabbed him forcibly from behind. A large, sweaty hand was placed over his mouth and the other held his right wrist – the hand with his wand. The man dragged him backwards, across the main hall, and through the pillars opposite the ones leading to the parlor. Harry tried to resist, tried to get the man off of him, tried screaming and kicking, but the person was too strong. The man found a dark, open room and pushed him in roughly. Harry nearly fell to the floor, but managed to catch himself. He turned around hurriedly, raising his wand, to find that the man already had his own pointed at Harry. The mostly empty room, containing shelves of books and a desk in the corner, was dim but light enough for him to see that it was Selwyn.

"The boy who defeated the Dark Lord," the man said in his rough voice. "It's so nice of you to attend a wedding where half the people want you dead. Oh, don't tell me you failed to notice all the looks you got." A deep, haughty laugh came from his mouth.

"What do you want?" Harry asked

"Just to see you squirm a little. Don't worry, I won't kill you. I merely want to hear you beg me for mercy."

Harry wasn't allowed to use magic during the summer, but this situation definitely called for it.

As Selwyn yelled, "_Crucio!_" Harry said, "_Expelliarmus!"_ Unfortunately for Harry, his spell came too late. He fell to the floor in agony, the feeling of white hot pain constantly stabbing at him. He screamed out as the man laughed. Writhing on the ground, he hoped that it either ended soon or that someone had heard him cry out.

After what like hours, but was really not even a minute, Harry saw a flash of red and suddenly the pain was gone. He was breathing erratically and got up from the floor slowly, using the bookcase to help him up. Snape, wand out, was standing in the doorway, Mr. Malfoy behind him. Selwyn was laying on the ground, unconscious.

"Son of a bitch," he heard Snape say, visibly angry. Harry hadn't heard him curse like that before. They looked at each other and his professor asked, "Are you alright?"

"Perfect," Harry replied sarcastically. He bent down to pick up his wand.

"What did he say to you?" Mr. Malfoy asked, pushing his blond hair off of his shoulder.

"What does it matter?" Harry asked. He could feel the heat rising in his face.

"I'm merely curious."

"He said it was nice of me to attend a wedding where half the people wanted me dead." Harry fixed his robe and then pushed past the two men, going out into the main hall. He decided to go to the loo to wash his face before he headed out to try and enjoy the rest of the party. Leaving the door open, he put his wand away and his glasses on the sink as he turned on the tap. The water, cool and refreshing, washed away the beads of sweat that had formed on his face. He let his elbows rest on the sides of the sink and placed his forehead in his hands, momentarily closing his eyes.

"Potter."

Startled, Harry nearly banged his head against the tap, and then glanced up into the mirror directly over the sink to see Snape standing just outside the doorway. "What do you want? I'm not in the mood for a chat, _Professor_."

"Don't get fresh with _me_, Potter. I just helped you out. And don't try telling me you didn't need it. I know better."

Harry wiped his face dry, put his glasses back on, and turned to face his professor. "What do you want me to say, Snape? Thank you? Fine: Thank you," he said. "Now just leave me alone." Snape moved aside to let him pass.

Harry went back outside to the celebration. It was dark outside now, and with no clouds, he could see the stars shining brightly. The air was much cooler than it was before, but it was refreshing and pleasant. The table where he and his friends had been sitting was now empty. He picked up his half-full glass and downed it quickly. That's was when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

Pansy Parkinson, a small smile on her pale, creamy face, asked, "Would you like to dance, Potter?"

"Oh, I don't—I'm not really that good at dancing."

"That's okay." She grabbed his hand and wrenched him towards the open area between the tables, where the newlyweds and other couples were dancing. Parkinson placed his hands on her hips and put her own around the back of his neck. Harry felt his throat getting dry and his heart beating a little faster. He had never been this close to a girl before.

The music was soft and slow. They moved awkwardly and almost robotically, swaying side to side as they turned. Parkinson looked up at him, smiling. "You're not that bad at dancing." Harry chuckled. "No, really, I'm not just saying that."

Harry looked around the tent as the song played on. Mrs. Malfoy was talking at a nearby table to Mrs. Crabbe, Mrs. Goyle, and Mrs. Parkinson. Snape was by the drinks table, holding a glass of that fizzing drink, as he looked at the landscape outside the tent. Then he found his friends – Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott – all standing off to the side, watching him as he danced with Parkinson. Blaise and Nott were laughing, but Draco, arms folded, didn't look pleased. Harry turned away.

After a few songs, Parkinson said, "It was nice dancing with you, Potter." She leaned up onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she walked away, leaving him with his mouth half-open and a stunned look on his face. He walked over to his friends, who were all smiling at him like goofs.

"How was your _lovely_ dance?" Draco asked.

"What? She asked me to dance. What was I supposed to do?"

"Say no!"

"You're just upset because she didn't ask you."

"No, I'm not. I know better than to get mixed up with _her_. She's conniving."

Harry laughed, knowing that most of the people at this wedding were manipulative. He went to talk to Blaise instead, who asked, "So, how was it?"

"Fine. Better than I was expecting actually. I thought I was going to trip or step on her foot, or something."

"Well, you got a kiss on the cheek, so it couldn't have been that bad."

"Yeah, you're right."

"I know."

A few hours later, when most of the guests had left, Harry had followed the Malfoy's to Mrs. Zabini to thank her and once again congratulate her, and were now making their way across the lawn to the mansion to use the Floo Network. Harry yawned widely, his dressing robe hung casually over his shoulder. Draco was walking next him, looking tired as well. He looked around him, unsure of where Selwyn had gone, as they entered the house and went to a room with a fireplace.

Mr. Malfoy grabbed the bowl of Floo Powder from the mantel, took a handful, and handed it to his wife. Once in the fireplace, he said, "Malfoy Manor, and disappeared as green flames licked as his legs. Soon all of them had gone through, and it felt good to be back at a place where Harry felt completely at ease.

Before the two boys went into their respective rooms, Harry said, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier about Parkinson not wanting to dance with you. I didn't really mean it. We're cool, right?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

Harry went inside his room, threw his dressing robe onto his trunk, changed into his pajamas, put his wand under his pillow for safe-keeping, and climbed comfortably into bed. He head barely hit the pillow and he was asleep.

* * *

Harry slept-in much later than he had anticipated, but he had definitely needed the extra sleep. Seeing he was awake, Hedwig flew over to him. He patted her head and her feathers ruffled in happiness. That was when he realized that he hadn't sent a letter to Sirius.

Yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched in his bed and then reached under his pillow, where he had stashed the letter from Sirius. He then got out of bed to get a fresh piece of parchment, his quill, and his inkbottle.

_S,_

_Ah, weddings. It was a lot different than I was expecting, but it was fun…well, most of it. It met a man named Selwyn, definitely a Death Eater. Let's just say he doesn't like me very much because he dragged me into an empty room and used Crucio on me. Not that I like Snape at all, but it was a good thing he was there and that he heard me yell because he Stunned Selwyn. But other than that, I danced with a girl for the first time and she kissed me on the cheek!_

_And I don't think Kreacher was lying when he told me about Regulus. There was just something about the way he looked – kind of hopeless and sad. He even invited back into your house, which I thought was nice in a weird way._

_Maybe when I go back to the Dursley's next summer I should put up some posters of girls doing magic just to piss them off! I'd probably be kicked out of course, but that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing since I hate it there._

_I know that I only found out recently that you're my godfather, but it feels like I've known you longer than just a few months. I'll try to get you that mirror as quick as I can._

_H._

The letter was sent off, much to Hedwig's annoyance, and then Harry dressed and knocked on the connecting door to Draco's room. Groggily, Draco asked, "Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"Err…kind of."

Harry opened the door to the dimly lit room. Draco was lying underneath his green blanket, his head resting on his pillow, hair slightly wild. Harry heard his friend yawn as he sat down in an armchair near the window. "Do you remember not seeing me for a while before I danced with Parkinson?"

"Yeah, I think I remember you saying you were going to the loo, but you took a long time."

"I met a man named Selwyn. Well, he very clearly doesn't like me because he grabbed me from behind and brought me to an empty room and—"

"Whoa, wait!" Draco exclaimed, sitting up in his bed. "Selwyn grabbed you while you were in the loo?"

"No, your father saw me in the main hall afterwards and invited me into the parlor where all these men were, and Selwyn was there. He got really upset when your father asked if I wanted something to drink. He said I was a little bugger and that I didn't deserve a drink because I got rid of the Dark Lord," Harry explained. "He even took out his wand and pointed it at me, so I took mine out, but then Snape came in. Selwyn left, and then your father said I should get back to the party, but as I was walking back through the main hall, he grabbed me."

"Shit, what happened?"

"I wasn't quick enough. We both yelled a spell, but he was just too quick."

"What—what spell did he use?"

"He said Crucio."

"It's called the Cruciatus Curse. It's illegal. Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, really bad. It was like I was being stabbed all over. I screamed and Snape must have heard because he Stunned Selwyn."

"And then to have to dance with Parkinson right after."

"It didn't help that Blaise and Nott were laughing, and that you looked like you were going to kill me."

Draco chose that moment to get out of bed. He went over to the window and pulled open the curtains, letting the white light of early morning shine in. He turned to look at Harry. "It's just that I've known Parkinson a long time. I know what she's like, that's all." He went over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of trousers and a collared shirt.

Harry narrowed his eyes, watching Draco as he set his clothes at the foot of his bed. "Wait a second. You _were_ jealous. You did want her to dance with you. You fancy her, don't you?"

"No, that's ridiculous! I hate her, she's a complete prat. Why would I want to dance with _her?_" Draco said, still turned away.

"Well, despite being a prat, as you put it, she's pretty and apparently also sweet when she wants to be."

"Do _you_ like her? I mean, she did kiss you on the cheek."

"No, not really. She's a bit too forward for me," Harry replied. "But if you fancy her, you should ask her on a date or something. Like a dinner and a movie thing."

"Dinner and a what?"

"Nevermind. I'm just saying that if you like her you should do something about it. You know, you said yourself she's conniving; maybe she danced with me on purpose to make you jealous, knowing you like her. Maybe that's her twisted way of saying she likes you, too."

Draco looked out the window, and then turned to look at Harry. "Hmm…you know, you're probably right. Now get out so I can change."

Harry got up, a smile crossing his face, and left the room. He was able to get Draco to confess the fact that he fancies Pansy Parkinson. He never thought he would see the day.

* * *

Harry took the bowl of Floo Powder from Mr. Malfoy a few days later, after the two boys had received their yearly list of new books to purchase for classes, and was now on his way to Diagon Alley. Harry went first. He climbed into the fireplace and said, "_Diagon Alley!_" Stepping out, he found himself in a dim, crowded room with nearly a dozen wooden tables and chairs occupied by witches and wizards. He only had to wait a minute for both Draco and Mr. Malfoy to follow.

It was difficult to get past the haphazardly-placed tables without bumping into someone, much to the dismay of the two Malfoy's who didn't want anyone to touch them, most likely incase they were blood traitors. But Harry didn't care – he just wanted to get out of the stifling room and into the even more stifling alley.

Just as he about to make it out of the horde of people, Draco knocked into him from behind, sending him forward to knock into a girl with red hair, who fell to the floor. "Sorry!" Harry exclaimed, extending his arm to help her up. She brushed the hair from her face and he saw that it was Ginny Weasley.

"I can manage on my own," she replied, getting up to dust herself off.

"Well look who it is!" Draco said. "Little Ginny Weasley! Is the rest of your clan here?"

"Ginny! Ginny, where are you?" another girl's voice asked, and he knew it was Hermione Granger. Where was the exit? "Oh, it's you." She then saw that Ginny's robes were dirty and asked, "What did you do, Potter?"

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Why can't you learn to be quiet, Granger, like a good Mudblood?" Draco asked, staring at her with a disgusted look on his face.

"Why can't you learn to not show your ugly face again in public, Malfoy?" Granger replied.

"Oh, I'm ugly? You're one to talk!"

"Hermione, let's just get out of here," Ginny said, moving Granger away from the two boys.

Harry and Draco walked out of the Leaky Cauldron and to the brick wall leading to Diagon Alley. Mr. Malfoy was already waiting there. He had obviously taken a better route through the crowd, one where he hadn't found people who hated him.

At the moment Diagon Alley appeared less an alleyway and more just a swarm of people. It looked like a wave, a current of witches and wizards as they made their way towards their intended destination. They joined the flow, proceeding towards Flourish and Blotts.

The large shop, stacked to the ceiling with volumes of books, was also filled with students of all ages that were searching for their books and parents who just wanted to pay and get out of there. Harry could clearly see it on their faces, and he couldn't blame them. It was like jungle in here.

"Draco, Harry, just find your books and buy them," Mr. Malfoy said, handing Draco a few coins. "I'll be waiting near the door."

It took nearly an hour to find only three books – _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four; The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection; and Magical Drafts and Potions, Grade Four_ – in the chaos and then purchase them since the queue was so long. When they had finished, Harry and Draco found Mr. Malfoy partaking in a conversation with Mr. Weasley that clearly neither of them wanted to be having. The red-haired man looked tense and kept glancing at the door. Harry saw that the rest of the Weasley's, as well as Granger and Longbottom, were waiting outside, not knowing that something was going on inside.

Mr. Weasley looked at Harry as he walked over. "How are you, Harry?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied, feeling somewhat awkward. "How are you?"

"I'm well." He turned back to Mr. Malfoy, who looked smug. "I think we're done here."

"For once, I completely agree."

Mr. Weasley left the shop, joining the small crowd that was his family. As he watched the red-haired man put an arm around his Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, as he watched Granger laughing with Ron, Ginny, and Longbottom, Harry felt a small sense of longing to be there, too. He was quickly taken out of his reverie when Draco asked his father a question.

"What was that about?"

"We were discussing the Ministry and the new Dark Arts professor," Mr. Malfoy replied, opening the door to leave.

"Who is it?" Harry asked, following them out into the heat outside.

"A man named Alastor Moody, better known as Mad-Eye Moody."

"Mad-Eye?" Draco asked. "That's strange."

"Not if you see him, Draco. He has a magical eye that can see through walls, and he is quite mad," Mr. Malfoy said. "Now why don't you and Harry go into Madam Malkin's and I'll meet you at the ice cream parlor in a bit."

"Where are you going, father?" Draco asked, wiping some sweat from his brow.

"I have an old friend I want to speak with." Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, immediately being swallowed up by the throng. Harry and Draco went to the next shop over, glad that it wasn't as packed as the other stores. Madam Malkin, a small, squat woman, waddled over, wearing a cheery smile.

"Slytherin robes?" she asked, looking at Draco. Harry nodded, and they followed her until they were both standing in front of a full-length mirror.

"Do we have a Slytherin look or something?" Draco asked Harry.

"_You_ do," Harry joked.

Forty-five minutes later, as the two boys were eating ice cream in the parlor, their bags on the floor, Mr. Malfoy strode in, looking accomplished. "Are we done, or is there another shop we need to visit?"

Harry crunched on his ice cream cone and then said, "I need to visit Eeylops Owl Emporium for a bag of owl nuts."

"Grab your bags, Draco, and let's go."

"Yes, father."

Eeylops Owl Emporium was loud with the screech of yet-to-be-purchased owls and smelled strongly of droppings. Draco covered his nose none too discreetly as Harry went over to the counter to buy a bag of Hedwig's favorite treat.

Their next stop was the Leaky Cauldron to use the Floo Network. It was less crowded than it had been before, much to Harry's relief. Mr. Malfoy and Draco went first, as Harry rearranged the bags on his forearms. He heard familiar voices, but thought nothing of it until he heard his own name. He turned around to see that Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Longbottom were walking toward the fireplace, bags in their hands as well. Seeing a small niche besides the fireplace where the extra wood was kept, Harry hid there, breathing in dust.

"Potter can be such a twat," he heard Granger say, sounding annoyed.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it when he pushed me. It was pretty crowded, Hermione," said Ginny.

"He _did_ offer to help her up," Longbottom muttered.

"I'm sure he only offered to appear like the good guy," replied Granger.

"Why are you all still talking about it? Who cares?" Ron Weasley asked. "Potter's a wanker, end of story."

"It just bothers me, that's all," Granger said. She sighed. "Let's go back to the Burrow."

Harry hated having to listen to them talk bad about him when he had done nothing wrong. He had accidentally pushed Ginny Weasley because of the crowd. At least Ginny and Longbottom seemed to understand that, but Granger and Ron were biased towards him and would never let themselves think it was an accident. Anything that when wrong was Harry's fault, no questions asked.

After he heard them all say, "The Burrow," Harry snuck out of the alcove, grabbed some Floo Powder, and finally went back to Malfoy Manor. He found Draco waiting for him in the Great Room. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I got caught up." When he saw the curious look on Draco's face, he added, "Weasley's and Granger."

Harry went upstairs to put his new books and robes away. Hedwig had been gone for a few days, but was now back, sleeping scrunched up in her feathers at the foot of his bed. He gently took the letter from her leg, trying not to disturb her.

How angry was Sirius going to get about the incident at the wedding? He opened the letter to find out, and saw that the usually curvy handwriting was quickly written and scratchy.

_H,_

_That son of a bitch! If I ever get out of Azkaban, I'm going to find Selwyn and kill him! To do that to my godson! He deserved Snape Stunning him and much worse! Believe me, if he could've he would've done much worse to you. I'm just glad that you're all right, and that you weren't too embarrassed to tell __me._

_You're first dance with a girl and your first kiss! I wish your parents were around to hear about this. Your dad would've nudged you on the shoulder and your mom would definitely have given you a big hug. But don't put up any posters at your aunt and uncle's house because I won't let you be kicked out of their house because of something stupid I did when I was a kid. I know you hate it there, but it's only a few more years._

_Good luck with your 4th year, Harry!_

_S._

Harry lay down on his bed, the letter still in his hand as he stared up at the ceiling. This summer had been much crazier that he was anticipating. Even without a murderer chasing him and having with stay with Snape, it had definitely not been without its surprises. Good thing it was almost over.

------

**A/N:** Harry only needed those three books because the ones he used last year for Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration are the same. And, just so you all know, I'm saving the Quidditch World Cup for next summer for some very good reasons. I promise it will be much better next year after what I'm planning for this year unfolds!

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 6—The Magician's Top Hats:

Hogwarts students find out about the Triwizard Tournament, where it is to take place, and the interesting changes to the games…


	6. The Magician’s Top Hats

"Love is the magician that pulls man out of his own hat."

-Ben Hecht

**6**

**The Magician's Top Hats**

The platform was raucous and disorderly – hundreds of people walking and running, shouting and talking, laughing and crying – and Harry could barely follow Draco through the crowd, let alone hear his voice. He dragged his heavy trunk behind him, pausing constantly as the flow of people got jammed. He was bumped into frequently and watched as parents hugged children, hesitant to send them off into the world.

Finally, he and Draco made it onto the train. They looked eagerly for an empty compartment or for one with someone they knew. It took some time, but they eventually came across Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Blaise, looking cheerful, had his legs up on the seat, much to Nott's annoyance, who was trying to sit on the same seat. Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces with chocolate and sweets.

Harry stuffed his trunk above the cushioned seats with the help of Blaise, and Draco did the same. They were all talking about the upcoming year, the train not yet departed, when the door slid open slowly.

Pansy Parkinson smiled at the boys, who were completely silent. "Mind if I join you?"

Harry glanced at Draco, whose pale face was turning slightly red. "No, you can stay."

"There aren't objections, Draco?" she asked. "I don't want to be anywhere I'm not wanted."

He cleared his throat and said, "No objections."

"Good!" Parkinson said merrily. There wasn't much room on the seat, but she sat down between Harry and Draco anyway, so Nott moved to sit next to Crabbe and Goyle.

The train jerked forward, quickly speeding up, and was soon at a steady pace. Harry looked out the window, knowing that the close buildings of London would soon turn to the vast and open countryside. He was brought back to inside the compartment as a conversation started.

"Is the Triwizard Tournament really going to happen?" Blaise asked Draco, who nodded.

"My father confirmed it. At first, the Ministry wasn't sure, but they thought it would help with international problems, or so my father told me."

"I wonder where it's going to take place – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang," said Blaise.

"That's a good question. Probably Hogwarts, but you never know," responded Draco."

"You know, I heard that Dumbledore got three substitute teachers," Harry said. "What do you think that means?"

"It could mean anything, really," said Draco, shrugging. "We haven't had a Triwizard Tournament in over two-hundred years, maybe it takes a lot of work on the professors' part, I don't know. Maybe Dumbledore thinks the school will need the extra help during the games."

As Parkinson switched places with Harry to speak with Blaise, Draco whispered to Harry for some advice. "I've been thinking about what you said. About Pansy. And…I think I do like her a little. Do you think I should ask her on a date or tell her I fancy her?"

"Don't tell her you like her up front. Obviously, you like her since you're asking, but you don't want her to freak out or anything. Plus, she _is_ Parkinson; you don't want her to tell the whole of Slytherin House if something goes wrong. But, go ahead, ask if she wants to "

"Good point. Thanks, mate."

"No problem."

"Err…Parkinson?" Draco asked. He cleared his throat, as she looked at him. "Can I talk to you in the hall?"

"Sure." She got up and walked outside, followed by Draco.

Blaise laughed as the compartment door was closed. "I wonder what's going on out there. Snogging session?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed loudly. "Hey, Harry, do you think there's going to be a Quidditch competition this year?"

"I don't see how there can be. If students from another school come here, Hogwarts would be preoccupied with the tournament, and if we go somewhere else, I'm betting a bunch of players would be missing. Sadly, I see my Firebolt collecting some dust."

"Well, if you do take it for a ride now and then, let me know. I'd love to have a go on it!"

"Okay, sure."

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Parkinson, a cheerful look on her face, walked in. Draco trailed after, looking relieved and satisfied with himself. Blaise looked over at Harry, before saying, "What were you two doing out there?"

"Mind your own business, Zabini," Draco said.

"Just asking, Malfoy, you don't have to get defensive."

Halfway through the day, the trolley cart with sweets arrived. Harry bought two Chocolate Frogs. Draco got a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and a Sugar Quill for Parkinson. Blaise purchased a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, which they later passed around as a twisted game. And while Nott bought nothing, Crabbe and Goyle bought and ate more than any person should.

Many hours later, when night had descended and they were all feeling excitement about going back, the Hogwarts Express pulled into the platform near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Students dressed in black robes, most with emblems of their House, crowded out of the compartments and train onto the dimly-lit platform. A much taller, wider figure, which Harry knew to be Hagrid, was shouting for the first years to follow him. He saw the little eleven-year-olds getting anxiously onto small boats that would carry them to the school.

Meanwhile, all the older students climbed into carriages being lead by black, leathery horses, whose frame was of bone and muscle. Harry still had no idea what they were and he remembered mentioning them to Granger last year, getting a response that had in no way been helpful, so he didn't try again. He would just console himself with the fact that maybe students just weren't supposed to see them, and for some unknown reason he could.

The carriage brought he, Draco, Blaise, and Parkinson up to the towering castle, whose many, uncountable windows were lit yellow from the fire of the torches inside. Professor McGonagall, standing inside the Entrance Hall, waiting for the first years, welcomed them back with a smile. The Great Hall had been lightly decorated with four House banners above the tables and with four, longer ones behind the table where most of the professors sat.

Only two seats were empty. Obviously one was McGonagall's. The other must be meant for Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Harry had to admit that he was intensely curious about the new professor, but it seems he would have to wait.

Harry took a seat at the Slytherin table with his friends, closer than he usually was to the Staff table and the stool the Sorting Hat had been placed on. They all wanted to hear the speech Dumbledore was going to give tonight. No doubt it would contain information about the Triwizard Tournament.

Dumbledore silenced the students with a wave of his hand, as the doors opened and a crowd of new students entered. Most of their cheeks were red in anticipation. One boy was sweaty heavily. Harry remembered his own sorting, and how scared he had been of the Sorting Hat and of being placed in the wrong House. Whether he had been or not, he still didn't know.

Suddenly, the old, moth-eaten Sorting Hat became animate and words sprang wonderfully from its folds and seams.

At a time that has long passed  
Four founders gathered and created  
This legacy that is set to last  
Over this cause they have united

Yet divided their ideals were  
In four houses they were signified  
Hogwarts is the school that they shared  
Students chosen, so diversified

Do you possess purity and class?  
You oh sly one need not wait long  
Always ambitious and never rash  
In Slytherin you would belong

To the wise with such cutting wit  
An eagle will soar from above  
Ravenclaw is your perfect fit  
Books and reading thou truly love

To those who are loyal and true  
Believe that magic is for all  
Hufflepuff is the house for you  
Friends who stand by whence you fall

Do you admire courage and valor?  
In battle thou prefer to be in front  
You are then a Gryffindor  
Brave ones who know how to have fun

Where you'll belong I will show  
Deep in your heart and mind, I'll look  
Place you in a house where you'll grow  
To be the best you ever could

So put me on, there no need to fear  
The thinking cap is finally here!*****

Harry could have sworn he heard the whole group if first years gulp simultaneously as McGonagall stood next to the hat, parchment in hand. She called them up one by one, placing the Sorting Hat on their heads. Each House cheered when a new student was found to be of their caliber. Harry joined in by clapping loudly when a student ran to the table and sat down, still red in the face.

Headmaster Dumbledore got up from his seat and walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of where he sat. He surveyed the room slowly, a hint of a smile on his face, the glass of his half-moon spectacles catching the light.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! This year will no doubt be an exciting one, as I have some very exciting news. By now you might have heard some rumors circulating that the Triwizard Tournament is to take place…well, I am here to tell you that those rumors are, for once, quite true." Cheers erupted from the tables. He raised a hand for silence. "Although there will be changes for the safety of the champions involved, the tournament will be an exhilarating spectacle for all those who witness it. Those in charge at the Department of Magical Games and Sports have decided on a host school, and this year the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Durmstrang Institute for Magical Study."

There were more cheers, but not as enthusiastic ones, seeing that most of them would not be able to attend the thrilling tasks that the champions would have to face.

"I almost went to Durmstrang," whispered Draco.

Harry turned away from Dumbledore to look at Draco. "You did? Why?"

"They learn more Dark Arts there than we do here."

Blaise asked, "Wouldn't it be brilliant to get picked as a one those that could be champion?" Harry would have said yes, had Dumbledore not decided to continue right then.

"The three schools – Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons – will be represented by three champions, one for each school. A small group of candidates, who will be chosen by me, will accompany me to Durmstrang next month in hopes of being Hogwarts champion," continued Dumbledore, looking around the room. "In addition to the champions, this year six students from each year, only fourth year and above, will be allowed to attend the games to cheer the champion on. They will be chosen by me and the Heads of House, based on merit and good grades."

The students began talking all at once, the enthusiasm and anticipation rising. "Even if we aren't chosen as champions, maybe we'll be allowed to go with them!" exclaimed Blaise.

"This brings me to my next point: the Hogwarts champion," said Dumbledore. He motioned to the side. "Over to my right are two men who will explain the rules better than I can, Mr. Barty Crouch, who is head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Mr. Bagman, who is head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

One man, gray hair beneath a black, bowler hat and wearing a black. Pinstriped robe, walked forward. "Good evening. I'm Barty Crouch." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure you've heard from the tales that the Triwizard Tournament had been hazardous to the champions involved in the tasks. To make it safer, to ensure the less possible amount of risk, we've set an age limit of seventeen for the candidates who wish to be champion."

Outrage erupted from the tables and shouted of disagreement. Harry saw the Weasley twins stand up, clearly upset and disappointed. "Only seventeen and older?! That's crap!"

"Calm down, calm down! It was only done for the safety of the students. These tasks are very dangerous. The likelihood of injury and death is extremely high. I see no downside to making this as secure as possible."

There were still some bursts of outrage, to which Dumbledore explained, "These rules are being enforced to protect those that wouldn't be able to handle such a competition. Because this is not just any competition; it's the Triwizard Tournament. The champions that compete will face challenges and obstacles no one in their right mind would confront without the prospect of fame and honor. These tasks challenge the person physically, mentally, and emotionally. Therefore, you must be willing to take many risks."

Dumbledore paused. From his seat, Harry could see his headmaster looking around at the other students, who had fallen silent. His gaze eventually fell on Harry. "Now, let me show you what you have been waiting for all evening." Dumbledore motioned to Filch, who was standing by the wall with a large, cloth-covered object. He rolled it over on a trolley until it was in front of the headmaster. He left the cloth on.

"You have all heard about it from tales of the Triwizard Tournament. The prized possession – _the Goblet of Fire!_" With a flick of his wand, the cloth flew off, like a magician revealing his trick. Once the cloth had been pulled away, bright blue light illuminated the space around it. The prize was a large goblet of elegance and extravagance with silver and engravings adorning the sides and thick base. Many students were in such awe they couldn't make a sound, while the majority applauded and cheered noisily.

After the clamor died down, Dumbledore resumed his speech, "Tonight, there will be five top hats placed on the High Table, which stands behind me. Each will be named with a year, the last with the word 'Champions.' I am warning you now, if you put your name or another's name into the Champions hat and you are not of age, you can guarantee that there will be immediate consequences. With some help, I will choose who—"

The Great Hall doors swung open stridently, the creak of them rumbled the floor. Someone gasped loudly. The students became as silent as if they were asleep, for the man standing boldly in the doorway looked wild – thick boots matted with dirt, knee-length jacket dirty, pale skin pockmarked, hair messy, and one large, blue eye twitching quickly in its socket. He held a thick cane, which he was leaning on for assistance, but it didn't seem to help his image, only hinder it – as if he might whack you with it. He moved forward down the middle aisle, between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. His footsteps made quite a sound and his boots left traces of dirt on the floor. He stepped right up to Dumbledore and said, "Sorry I'm late, Albus." The two shook hands firmly.

Dumbledore looked at the students. "May I introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: Alastor Moody, better known as Mad-Eye Moody." The teachers at the table began to applaud, and so the students joined in, the chatter between friends starting to rise. "Good luck to you all and now…let the feast begin!"

Steaming food appeared on the table and instantly the smell of it made Harry's mouth water, not realizing how hungry he actually was. He placed some chicken on his plate as he watched Dumbledore escort Moody to his seat. Snape, he saw, was staring at the new professor over the top of his glass.

"We _have_ to try going to Durmstrang," said Blaise. "It would be such a great experience. How many chances does someone get to go to another school? Certainly not many."

"I agree. I'm going to try as well," Draco said. "There are only six places for fourth years. Do you want to go, Harry?"

Harry loved Hogwarts like a home, and indeed it had been his home for three years now, and every time he left it he left a part of himself behind, but he would certainly find it intriguing to visit another school and another country to see something as marvelous as the Triwizard Tournament. "Count me in!"

* * *

Harry and his friends followed the other Slytherins out of the Great Hall and down to the dungeons. After finding out that the new password was "clarity," they retreated to their room, the door now displaying the number IV. He was having trouble putting his things away: his books in a pile under his bed, his box containing parchment and the white quill on his bedside table, and his calendar up on the wall. He was too focused on whether he should put his name in the Fourth Year's top hat. He knew he had been excited only an hour ago about going, but maybe all the enthusiasm from before hadn't made him think straight.

Did he really want to go? Did he really want to leave Hogwarts? Sure, he wanted to see the Triwizard Tournament, who didn't? But what if he ended up going with no one he knew? How would that be an enjoyable experience? But Draco and Blaise looked so exhilarated as they wrote their names on a slip of parchment that he couldn't help but want to feel the same thing, so he wrote his name too, and followed his friends up to the Great Hall./ppSmall groups of students were gathered at the back around the Staff Table, a soft buzzing emanating from them. The five black top hats were tall and clearly visible, even from the door. Harry walked closer to see that the hats were really quite large, much too big for someone's head. There was a thick blue line about a foot in front of the table, but he didn't know what it was for. The hats were arranged as so: Fourth Years, Fifth Years, Champions, Sixth Years, and Seventh Years.

The Champions hat was slightly larger than the others and the words were bright blue, whereas the others were only white. Harry watched as Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs placed their names in the Sixth Year hat and then walked away. People started to whisper when Montague came forward. He looked around him, passed the line, and placed his name in the Champion's hat.

"Ready?" Draco asked.

Harry looked down at the slip with his name, and then responded, "Sure." He, Draco, and Blaise crossed the line and put their names in the Fourth Year hat, and then turned around to walk away when Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom came forward with parchment in their hands.

"Don't even bother trying to out your name in, Weasley. Durmstrang won't want a blood traitor. And I wouldn't put my name in there if I was you, Granger, it'll just spit yours out," Draco said, laughing with Blaise. Harry smirked, finding it funny.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she said, keeping her irritated gaze on him as she placed her name into the hat. He only shrugged and walked away. The three Slytherin boys walked out of the hall, passing a tall, good-looking Hufflepuff boy.

"Merlin, I really hope we go," said Blaise.

* * *

Classes didn't start for another two days since it was the weekend, but despite being relieved to be back at Hogwarts, the common room was continually crowded and noisy, and neither Harry nor Draco wanted to be in there longer than five minutes. He could barely have a conversation with Draco above the racket. So the next evening after dinner, he and Draco decided to play Exploding Snap in the Room of Buried Secrets.

Harry watched, wand in hand, as the cards shuffled on their own on the floor. None of the cards were identical, so they shuffled again. As they waited, sitting opposite each other, he asked, "So, how is everything with Parkinson?"

Draco flinched forward when he thought two cards looked the same. "Things are fine. We haven't really gone on a date yet or anything, but this morning, when most everyone was asleep, she and I talked in the common room…"

The cards flipped and Harry tapped his wand at the card that was identical to another, and it exploded with a burst of white smoke.

"Damn, you're always faster. Anyway, we talked for about an hour."

"Have you kissed yet?"

Draco looked up at him. "I asked her out yesterday, so no, not yet."

Harry shrugged. "Just asking. But no one can resist the charm of Draco Malfoy," he joked.

"You're absolutely right. I'm irresistible."

Harry snorted in reply, and Draco said, "Oh, shut up."

Two hours later as they were walking back down to the dungeons, he saw Hagrid walking out of the Great Hall, the top hats gathered in his large arms. "Oh, 'ello there, Harry…er, Malfoy." Draco top lip rose in disgust at seeing the large man, but Harry was pleased to see him.

"Hi, Hagrid. What are you doing with those?"

"Bringing them up teh Dumbledore. He's gonna deliberate about teh names," Hagrid replied. "Did yeh put your name in, Harry?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Good luck. I'll put in a good word fer yeh."

"Thanks." He saw Hagrid go up the stairs.

"I didn't know you and the big oaf were on talking terms again," said Draco./pp "I went to his cabin this summer when I was at your house, remember? I was gone the whole evening."

"Oh. Yeah, I remember."

"You didn't ask me about it, so I didn't think you wanted to discuss it."

"Well, I didn't think you were going to be all buddy-buddy again."

Harry stopped walking midway down the stairs. "What is your problem? Do you have something against Hagrid?"

Draco turned to look at him. "I don't have anything against Hagrid."

But Harry didn't believe him. "You obviously do if you don't want me talking to him. But I can see its just prejudice."

"Don't start that, Harry."

"Then why? Why don't you like him?" Harry asked. He waited, but Draco said nothing. "You don't have an answer, do you? You just despise him because your father does or told you to." Still his friend said nothing. "Believe whatever you want about Hagrid, but I'm still talking to him." He then walked the rest of the way down the stairs, through the corridors, and into the common room, leaving Draco to wallow in his thoughts alone.

He went down to his dormitory and rested on his bed, staring at the canopy of green fabric above him. He knew he shouldn't have said those things to Draco because he knew that Draco was sensitive to the subject of prejudice, but he just didn't want to hold back, he couldn't hold back. Somehow he felt himself not wanting to anymore. It wasn't as if the incident with Swelyn had been more or less traumatic than the other events he had been through so far, but something about it had made him want to release the part of himself that had before been suppressed, that he had at all times controlled. Maybe that was why he had smirked at Draco's comment to Granger, when usually he just stood there. He wasn't really sure. And he wasn't exactly sure what that part of him was, but it was certainly darker than he would care to express. Because if he could, if he ever saw Selwyn again, he would make the man squirm as he had.

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***** Written by the_nutty_imp on Mugglenet Fan Fiction.

**A/N:** I know that in the real books, there were no younger students that accompanied the older students, but I need Harry to be there for obvious reasons. Have a fantastic weekend and upcoming week!

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Preview of Chapter 7—Pass or Fail:

Harry goes through the tunnels to hear which students are going to Durmstrang, attends his first class with Professor Moody, and attempts to transform one of the Two-Way Mirrors when he gets some unexpected help...


	7. Pass or Fail

"It is not a disgrace to fail. Failing is one of the greatest arts in the world."

-Charles F. Kettering

**7**

**Pass or Fail**

Harry got out of bed and looked out the window over the grassy expanse of Hogwarts grounds. Should he send Sirius a letter? He hadn't replied to the last one yet. But he just couldn't get himself to do it. Maybe he should find Draco. But he didn't want to do that either. Then he recalled seeing Hagrid with the hats, saying that they were going to deliberate on the students going to Durmstrang. Not wanting to do anything else, he left the empty room, went halfway up the stairs, and pushed the stone in the wall that revealed the tunnels.

In little over fifteen minutes, he was sitting among the dusty boxes of Dumbledore's closet, listening to the Heads of House consider the names taken from the top hats.

"I'm not quite sure if he'd behave himself, Albus," McGonagall said of a seventh year boy. "Warrington's been rather rowdy all his years here. Who's to say he'll be any different at Durmstrang?"

"Then put his name back in the hat," said Dumbledore. "Now, let's move onto the sixth years."

Harry heard someone shake one of the hats, the thick parchment hitting the sides lightly. "Alicia Spinnet."

"Excellent student…" said Professor Sprout.

"…and Quidditch player," finished McGonagall.

"She's a kind person," said Professor Flitwick, "I think she would make a fine addition to the group."

"Then we're agreed. Put her name on my desk," said Dumbledore.

The next few names were denied the privilege of joining the people to go to Durmstrang, and when McGonagall picked Adrian Pucey, they debated for many minutes over whether he should go since he was kind of a jokester, but got excellent grades. In the end they allowed him a pass. They also allowed Summers and Terence Higgs to join them. Then the names of Fred and George Weasley were picked, and the professors grew worried, wondering if they would be able to control themselves.

p"I have no doubt they know _how_ to control themselves. I simply believe they choose not to," said McGonagall, who was, remarkably, on their side.

"They would ruin the school and everyone's impression of Hogwarts," replied Snape. "We cannot bring them there."

"They may be tricksters, but they are kind-hearted; they only do what they do to make people laugh. How bad can that possibly be, Snape?" asked Flitwick.

"Fine, let them go."

Harry wished he could actually see the teachers inside, but wouldn't dare open the door for fear of someone hearing it open or seeing him once it was. Next were the fifth years; the first name picked was Cormac McLaggen.

"Highly intelligent," said Flitwick.

"But such arrogance," said Snape.

"McLaggen excels in his classes and is friends with many students," replied McGonagall. "His arrogance has nothing to do with this decision."

"Maybe it should. We don't want Durmstrang to think Hogwarts students are full of themselves, do we?" Snape retorted.

"We'll let him go, Severus," Dumbledore said. "If someone more suitable is picked from the hat we shall choose them instead."

A few people were immediately rejected, but then a boy named Stebbins, two girls, S. Fawcett and Vicky Frobisher, were also allowed to go to Durmstrang. Then McGonagall said, "Cho Chang."

Sprout said, "Such a kind, charming girl."

"And quite the intellectual," said Flitwick.

"I agree," said Snape calmly. "She would be a great student to bring to Durmstrang."

"Roger Davies."

"I heard he is quite a charmer with the ladies," Flitwick chuckled in his high voice. "He'll be very popular with the Beauxbaton girls. And, of course, he does very well in school."

"I see no reason not to bring him," said McGonagall.

Dumbledore stated, "There's our six, now onto the fourth years."

Harry adjusted his seating on the floor, moving closer to the door than he had previously been. He leaned against the frame of the door, curious to see whether or not he would get a pass. Based on the people they were already permitting to go to Durmstrang, he knew he was a very likely candidate.

"Susan Bones."

"A little shy," said Sprout, "but I think she would benefit from going and meeting other people. She's a nice, polite girl."

"I agree," said Flitwick, and Snape replied, "So do I."

"Zacharias Smith."

Suddenly, the room went silent, though at first Harry didn't understand why. McGonagall said, "No, I don't think he should go. He gets good grades, but he's just so…_unpleasant._ I'm sorry to say this about a student, but he is."

"Sadly, I completely agree," said Flitwick. "He is _very_ rude."

"Who's next?" Snape asked.

"Ron Weasley."

"He's somewhat shy as well, I think, but his grades are decent," said Sprout."

"Only because Granger helps him, I don't doubt," Snape retorted.

Harry couldn't help but snigger at the thought of Weasley getting help from Granger. Couldn't he just read and complete his homework on his own?

"Minerva, Filius, what do you think?" Dumbledore asked.

McGonagall replied, "Ron Weasley is a charming young man, he may not be the most intelligent, but I think he would make a great addition to the group already going."

"I agree with you, Minerva. But if only he practiced his charms more often, he would be much better," said Flitwick.

"Put Weasley's name on my desk," said Dumbledore, "and let's move onto the next student." There was an indignant sigh that Harry guessed was Snape, and then there was more shuffling of paper. The Head of Gryffindor House said, "Draco Malfoy."

"He's smart and he does very well in my class," said Snape.

"Yes, he is a clever young man," Flitwick said.

McGonagall sighed angrily and then said, "Well, lucky for him if he isn't chosen here, his father will, by some means or another, get him to go, so we might as well give him a pass."

There was a slight pause, and then the headmaster asked, "Minerva, who's next?"

"Oh, I grabbed two at once by accident."

"We'll choose the better of the two."

"Blaise Zabini and…Terry Boot."

"Hmm…" said Professor Sprout. "Both have, I think, average grades, but Boot is friendlier and would be better with our foreign friends."

"I would have to disagree, Pomona," Flitwick responded. "I believe Zabini would be better with our friends from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton. He can be rather annoying, but he is charming.

"I don't believe Zabini is charming in any way. And he is certainly more than just annoying," said McGonagall. "He and his mother are also known for being intolerant of people's blood purity. We cannot bring him to the games, where we advocate camaraderie and cooperation between the schools and its students."

"Severus, what do you say?" Dumbledore asked.

"I, too, believe Boot would be the better choice, despite Zabini being in my House. Boot is known to be a friendly boy and works well with others."

"Well said. Who else?"

"Hermione Granger."

Flitwick responded with: "Yes, yes, yes! She has a superior intellect."

"She would be a remarkable student to have at Durmstrang," said Sprout. "And not only is she incredibly smart, she is very friendly. She's made me laugh many times."

"She's a know-it-all," Snape replied. "We should let her go based on that? Yes, her knowledge is widespread, but she can be exasperating here, and will no doubt be so there as well."

"Severus, we can't deny a talented student to go to Durmstrang simply because you feel inadequate compared to her," McGonagall replied.

Harry chuckled from inside the closet, keeping his hands over his mouth so as not to be heard.

"I do not feel inadequate next to a student, I simply believe she—!"

"Severus, Minerva, enough," said Dumbledore. "This is not about you or any other teacher, it is about the students. You would all do well to remember that. Let's find the last student to go, and then we can choose the champions. How many more names are there in the hat, Minerva?"

"Just one: Harry Potter."

Harry leaned in closer, pressing his ear to the wood of the door. He was curious about what they would say regarding him. Maybe he had mentally overreacted before. Now that he knew Draco was going, he wanted to go as well. He didn't want to miss out on all the fun. But he was a double-edged sword – intelligent but famous. Would they not let him go because of his fame?

"Potter's such a kind young man, and he's such an intelligent boy," Flitwick piped. "He already knows some of the charms I teach for the first time."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Sprout added. "Despite being a Slytherin, he is very aware of other students and their feelings, and I feel he would do very well with the students of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang."

"As much as his fame would be beneficial for Hogwarts and Britain overall, it might overshadow the actual point of our visit: the Triwizard Tournament," said Snape. "You also all seem to neglect the fact that he is hot-tempered and impulsive."

"Well, I suppose you would know better than anyone, wouldn't you?" McGonagall asked.

"Why would you say that?" Snape sounded taken aback.

"Potter spent last summer at your home, didn't he?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, he did."

"Well, Severus, you mentioned the fact that he is hot-tempered, but you never said whether or not you believe he should go."

There was a slight pause. "Despite his fame, and his arrogance…I do believe Potter should have a pass to Durmstrang. It is quite clear that last year was hard on him."

"Severus, have I heard correctly?" Dumbledore teased. "I believe we are turning you to the dark side by making you like Harry."

"No, I would certainly not go as far as saying that, Professor."

Dumbledore chuckled happily. "Let's move to the candidates for champion."

Harry left about forty-five minutes later after the ten candidates had been chosen, remembering only three of the names since they had been popular among the professors – Angela Johnson, Cedric Diggory, and Montague. The others had been discussed casually and with not much enthusiasm. He wasn't sure which he would choose as champion since he had only met Johnson on the Quidditch pitch, had never met the boy named Diggory, and wasn't much of a fan of violent and quick-tempered Montague.

He made his way down the stairs to the dormitory to find that Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were already in bed.

* * *

The post arrived early Monday morning, as Harry ate his eggs beside a tired and groggy Blaise. He hadn't seen Draco since their minor tussle in the corridor, but he honestly didn't mind. He knew they would get over it eventually, but it was just a question of when.

Blaise opened his _Daily Prophet_, and Harry looked over to see that the front page news was about the reinstated Triwizard Tournament taking place at the Durmstrang Institute for Magical Study. It said that the students would be arriving at the school, which was speculated to be near Bulgaria and Romania, around the 30th of October.

"I wonder when Dumbledore will tell us who's going to Durmstrang," Blaise said.

Harry didn't want to tell his friend that he already knew that he wasn't going, but that he and Draco were. He only nodded and replied, "Hopefully soon."

As breakfast was drawing to a close, Professor Snape went down the table giving the students their schedules. Harry saw that his schedule was mostly similar to his schedule last year, but this year he had Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing Monday morning with the Gryffindors.

He was intensely curious about the professor teaching his favorite subject this year. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was definitely an interesting person, and no doubt his classes would be quite fascinating as well.

Despite being mad at each other, Harry and Draco sat at the same table out of habit fifteen minutes later in class. The room was vastly different than how Remus Lupin had kept it. Where before there had been cages containing unusual creatures, there were now numerous circular glasses, like magnifying glasses without the handle, around the windows and door. Mad-Eye Moody was standing in the front of the room, watching and waiting for all the students to be seated. Now that he was closer, Harry saw that he had gray hair, thick scars all over his face that had long ago healed, and his broad nose was crooked and seemed to have a piece missing. Of course, the man's main attribute was not his wooden leg, but one of his eyes, which was larger than the other, electric blue, and was constantly twitching to look around the room.

Moody cleared his throat, used his wand to close the door behind the last student, who gasped at the sudden movement, and said in a gruff voice, "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I can guarantee you all that this class is not to be taken lightly. The Dark Arts and the people who follow it are constantly vigilante, and so you should remain always alert, always cautious, and always aware of your surroundings."

His magical eye looked around the room. "Now, according to the Ministry, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses, only how to defend yourself, and not how to attack; none of the dark curses and spells that one would need to really to ward off other witches and wizards. You lot aren't supposed to know about illegal curses until your sixth year, but Headmaster Dumbledore reckons you can cope, that you're old enough to deal with it, and I believe the sooner you know what you're up against, the better.

"How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen before? A wizard who's about to curse you, whether illegal or not, isn't going to tell you he's about to do it. There are no pleasantries involved – no handshakes or hugs or smiles. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert at _all_ times.

"So today, right off the bat, we're going to start with the worst offenses of the Dark Arts."

Harry stared at his professor, listening carefully to his words. He saw Moody's magical blue eye stop at him for a moment and then continue its wiggling glances around the room.

"There are three Unforgivable Curses. Using any one of them on another witch or wizard is a deep offense and results in a life-term imprisonment of the individual at Azkaban," continued Professor Moody. "Does anyone where know one of the curses?"

Granger, sitting at the front of the class, instantly raised her hand, her arm extending straight into the air. "Yes, Miss…"

"Hermione Granger," she said. "One of the Unforgivable Curses is the Imperius Curse; it causes the victim to do the caster's bidding unquestioned. Some don't even know they are under the curse since it is said to feel as if the victim is in a dream-like state, but if the victim has a strong enough will they can fight the curse."

"Well-said, Miss Granger," Moody stated, moving around his desk to open a drawer. He took out a glass jar in which three large, hairy spiders were scuttling around inside. With his large hand, he grabbed a spider, keeping it in his palm with some difficulty. Wand pointed, he muttered, "_Imperio!_"

Harry leaned forward in his chair to watch as the spider was flung around in the air, doing spirals and summersaults and then crawled upon some of the students' desks. A bunch of students laughed – he could hear Draco and Blaise chuckling – but Harry was too busy watching Mood's scarred, stern face.

"Do you think it's funny? Would you like me to do that to you?" Moody paused, the spider stuck mid-air, and the class stopped laughing. "Or rather, would you like me to force you to jump, say, out the window? Or how about the lake? I could force you to drown yourself, or someone else." He placed the spider back into the jar, as he continued, "With this curse, I would have total control. Like Miss Granger said, the victim does the caster's bidding completely unquestioned. Therefore, I could make any one of you do as I wanted without hesitation. But the Imperius Curse can be fought, and in the coming months I will teach you how. Now, who knows another?"

Moody's magical eye looked around and landed on Neville Longbottom, who was sitting towards the back of the room. "What about you? Do you know one?"

Harry turned in his seat. Longbottom gulped, his face turning red. "Err…I know one – the Cruciatus Curse."

"Ah, yes. Longbottom's your name?" Moody asked, and the boy nodded, looking down. He grabbed another spider. "This curse is one we will _not_ be practicing in class, as well as the last one." He pointed his wand and said, "_Engorgio!_". The spider swelled, and Harry heard Weasley whimper nearby.

"_Crucio!"_

The spider began to jerk and twitch, a pained screech emanating from it, as it rocked back and forth on Moody's hand. Harry stared, teeth clenched. He knew that pain. He had felt it not too long ago, and he couldn't stand watching the small creature feel it, like knives in flesh, like he had.

Harry slammed his fist to the desk. "_Stop it!_" Moody relented, and the spider's body relaxed. He placed it on his desk instead of inside the jar. Harry turned in his seat to see the class looking at him, except Longbottom, whose fists were clinched like his and whose face was white.

"You don't need knives or spikes to torture someone," said Moody. "Pain is powerful; it can be a very coercing force. Some wizards don't even need the Imperius Curse when they can use the Cruciatus Curse instead. And the last curse?"

The room was silent. Harry didn't see Granger raise her hand, though he was positive she knew the answer, just like he did. "Anyone?" Moody asked.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry replied in a quiet tone.

The professor's magical eye looked at Harry before his normal brown one did. "Yes, the last and the worst. I imagine you know more about this spell than anywhere else in this room, Mr. Potter. Avada Kedavra…the Killing Curse."

Professor Moody reached in for the last spider and placed it on his desk. Wand fixed, he exclaimed, "_Avada Kedavra!_" Brilliant green light flashed before their eyes, and suddenly the spider that had just been trying to scamper away was motionless, its legs suspended stiffly in the air. It was clearly dead.

A bunch of the students gasped. Lavender Brown had a hand over her mouth. Harry's gaze was fixed on the spider, but he could feel Moody looking at him. "There is no countercurse for this spell. There is no blocking it once it's been spoken. And no one has ever survived it, none of course, except Mr. Potter."

Now he could feel more eyes on him than before, but still Harry looked at the spider. He had first read about the spell at Snape's house last year, but to hear the words spoken, to see it done was much worse than he could have imagined.

"Although we will not be practicing this spell, though I doubt any of you could do much damage if you pointed your wands at me right now, those are curses – Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse – are what you need to be familiar with. You need to know about them should certain circumstances arise. No point pretending they don't exist. You need to be prepared, and that's what I'm going to teach you. I'm going to teach you to fight. But I'm also going to teach you _constant, never-ceasing VIGILANCE!_"*****

The class flinched, and then the bell rang loudly, and the entire class was startled once again. Harry gathered his books and his parchment, stuffing it carefully into his messenger bag. He heard Seamus Finnigan ask Dean Thomas, "Did you see how Moody just killed that spider? It was so quick!" By the time he stood up, Harry saw that Draco had disappeared from his side, as had Blaise and the rest of the class. The only other person remaining was Neville Longbottom. He was staring, grim-faced, at the desk in front of him.

Harry walked toward the door, but then hesitated, looking at Longbottom. They weren't friends; they had barely said a word to each other ever, but somehow he felt compelled to say something.

"Hey, Longbottom…err…are you all right?"

Longbottom glanced up at him quickly, and then merely nodded.

"Are you sure? Was it about the spells we learned?" Harry asked, curious. "It's all right to be afraid of them, I know I am."

"I'm not afraid of them," Longbottom muttered, finally getting up from his seat. "They make me angry."

"I know what you mean."

Harry turned when he heard Moody walking toward them, his wooden leg clunking against the floor. "Longbottom, would you like a cup of tea? I have a Herbology book I would like to show you." Longbottom nodded, and Harry decided that was his cue to leave.

He pulled the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder as he exited the room to find that Draco was leaning against the wall, waiting. "Oh. I didn't know you were still here."

"That was certainly an interesting class, wasn't it?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, it was. Did you hear Moody say that we're going to practice the Imperius Curse? I wonder what that means. How are we going to practice it when it's illegal?"

"I have a feeling Moody doesn't give a crap about whether these spells are illegal or not."

"Yeah, that's probably true."

There was silence as they descended the stairs towards the Transfiguration classroom, and Harry wondered why Draco was finally talking to him again, why he had waited for him. Draco abruptly stopped walking and said, "Okay look, I didn't mean what I said before."

"You didn't say anything! That's the point."

"I know! Can you let me finish? I was wrong to get mad about you being friends with Hagrid again. Obviously I can't stop you from being mates with him, but I guess it was just…sudden, that's all. You had such a big fight last year, a rather loud, public fight I should say, that it seemed so out of the ordinary and sudden that you're friends again. It's not that he shouldn't forgive you, I just didn't think he would."

Harry started walking down the stairs again and Draco followed. "We're not buddy-buddy like you said before, and I don't know that you'd call us friends, really, but we're getting there. And he hasn't necessarily forgiven me either."

"Oh," was all Draco said, but that was all Harry needed to know that they were all right again. "Yep," Harry replied. And they walked to Transfiguration a few minutes late, much to Professor McGonagall's intense dislike.

* * *

As Harry lay on one of the couches near the unlit fireplace, reading the first chapter of the Dark Arts textbook, the stone wall opened and Severus Snape walked in, a piece of parchment in his hands. The students in the room perked up, their gazes following him to the notice board. Harry got up and walked over with a bunch of others to see that it was a complete list of all the students going with Headmaster Dumbledore to Durmstrang.

Wanting to confirm that he was indeed going, Harry looked at the list and saw his name in print. He smiled, closed his book, and went downstairs to his room. He placed the book under his bed with the others and grabbed the box with his stack of parchment and quill. He had to tell Sirius that he was going to Durmstrang and that he would be witnessing the Triwizard Tournament. But then he realized he couldn't send the letter until he had the Two-Way Mirror transformed.

Harry went into his trunk and grabbed one of the mirrors and the small book of spells, leaving to find an empty corridor. He saw Blaise sitting off by himself, looking annoyed and upset. He thought of going over, but knew that Blaise just needed some time alone.

The second floor was relatively empty. He passed only Professor Flitwick, who smiled at him casually. He knew the back halls were usually unoccupied since there was only one classroom, an office, and Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Harry took the mirror from his robe pocket and stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He had to transfigure it, but only so it stayed until Sirius held it in his own hands. If the mirror transformed back before he got it, then the guards would keep it from him.

He searched through the small book and found a spell called _Scribblifors_, which turned an object into a quill.****** But how would Sirius get the mirror back from a quill? He obviously didn't have his wand. And Harry wasn't sure how to add a timed limit to the spell.

pWith the mirror placed on the floor in front of him, he took a knut from his trouser pocket to test the first spell on it, to see how he would do. He held his wand tightly, pointing it at the coin in his other hand, and said, "_Scribblifors!_" A brown quill flickered into existence, but then flickered back. He took a deep breath and tried again, and suddenly, there was a real brown quill on his palm. He couldn't help but smile, but really he had done nothing. The mirror would be more difficult and he still had no idea how he would get it to turn back./p

Harry dropped the quill and stared at the mirror on the floor. He pointed his wand and said the spell, but it only flickered like a flame. "Oh, come _on!_" Harry shouted, not realizing he was so loud. "_Scribblifors!_" But it only flickered again. He grunted in aggravation. "_Scribbli—!_"

"What on earth are you doing, Potter?" McGonagall exclaimed. Harry jumped slightly and then turned quickly toward her. He hadn't heard her footsteps.

"Err…sorry. It's just that…" Harry glanced at the Two-Way Mirror and saw McGonagall follow his gaze. "I need this looking glass to appear as something else, but only until someone gets it in a few hours, and I don't know how to do that. I was trying to get it to look like a quill first."

"Why do you need it to look like another object?"

"I'm—I'm sending it to someone and he can't have it look like a mirror or he won't get it."

"I see," McGonagall said, a hint of a smile showing. "Well, that spell is a bit complicated for a fourth year. Besides, you don't actually want to transfigure it, you simply want it to appear so. And you don't know how to do that because I didn't teach it to you yet, so if you don't mind, Mr. Potter, I think I'll do it myself and teach you this later on in your schooling."

"Err…sounds good to me."

Harry took a few steps back to give his professor some room. She pulled her wand from her pocket, and then he watched her brandish it in the air, making loops a few times, before flicking it at the mirror. Instead of the Two-Way Mirror, there was a blank piece of parchment.

"Thank you, Professor!"

"I wouldn't mention this to anyone, Potter."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good, because I shouldn't be helping students smuggle things into Azkaban, but say hello to Sirius for me, Lupin, and Dumbledore." McGonagall gave him a wide smile, and then walked away, leaving Harry in slight shock. He should have known that she would realize who he was sending it to. Who else couldn't receive the actual object but someone in prison?

Harry picked up the parchment and the brown quill he had transformed and walked back down to his dormitory to write a letter to Sirius.

------

***** Loose paraphrasing and quoting of Moody's speech in _Goblet of Fire_.

****** Scribblifors is a spell from the Harry Potter Trading Card game.

**A/N:** Sorry the chapter was a day late. I've been pretty sick lately, and I've been really busy with schoolwork, so I haven't had time to do any writing. I only have one more chapter to update with, so I'm going to have to put the story on a small break. Sorry, guys! **The next update will be April 17th, in two weeks.** So that I can get some writing done – hopefully many chapters will be written, though I'm still swamped with work. Thanks for being patient!

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Preview of Chapter 8—Dirtied Hands & Unintentional Words:

Montague finds out he's been chosen as champion and celebrates with Dungbombs, and Harry finally speaks with Sirius through the Two-Way Mirrors…


	8. Dirtied Hands & Unintentional Words

"All the world's misfortunes stemmed from the countless untruths, both deliberate and unintentional, which people told because of haste or carelessness."

-Michael Ende

**8**

**Dirtied Hands & Unintentional Words**

The Slytherin common room was crowded as usual, but the commotion over the list of students going to Durmstrang had elevated the sound level in the large room. Some looked optimistic at their acceptance, a few girls were crying off to the side, whether because they had not gotten in or because of one of them had he didn't know, Blaise still looked grumpy because of his rejection, and Draco was talking to Parkinson on one of the couches, but a commotion near the notice board had caught Harry's attention.

A large cluster of students was forming and they were starting to cheer a name. "Montague! Montague! Montague!" He was obviously the most popular Slytherin student to be chosen as a candidate for the Hogwarts champion.

Harry entered the throng, moving closer to Montague, who had pulled over a chair to stand on it. He was now at least half a body taller than everyone else, who had to tilt their heads back to see his wide face. Montague's features held a large grin, showing that he was clearly enjoying the fuss that was all about him. He saw Harry in the crowd, and his smirk widened, as if seeing another boy's fame diminished somehow gave him pleasure. But Harry didn't care. Let someone else take the spotlight – he didn't want it. He had never wanted it.

Montague motioned for the other students in dark green to quiet down. "I know you've all seen my name on the champions list—!" Cheering erupted again. Montague waved his thick, hairy arms again to silence them. His grin was wider. "We've all heard from the rumors and stories that going into the Triwizard Tournament is dangerous territory! Well, you can count on this year's games to be just as unsafe and risky as it was two-hundred years ago with _me_ as one of the champions! And you can believe that I _will_ be this year's Hogwarts champion! Hogwarts _will_ succeed in winning the Goblet of Fire this year and it'll be because the champion is Slytherin!"

The swarm of students had grown in size, taking up nearly half the room. All those there applauded and whistled loudly. Harry clapped along with the others around him, wanting to join in on the ruckus they were creating. No doubt teachers walking by on the first and second floors could hear them.

Eventually, the crowd dissipated and settled. With the Two-Way Mirror disguised as a blank piece of parchment in his hand, Harry disappeared into his dormitory.

_S,_

_I have lots of good news! One, the Triwizard Tournament is coming back after two-hundred years, and it's taking place at Durmstrang. That may seem like bad news, but the second bit is that Dumbledore has chose six students from each year to go with him and the champions, and I'm one of them! I'm really excited to see another school and meet foreign students and actually get to witness the Tournament. Dumbledore said that the games are dangerous for the champions involved, and I have to admit that I'm interested to see what will happen._

_And finally, the mirror has been transformed. I wasn't able to do it on my own because it was too complicated, but Professor McGonagall changed it for me. She says hello, as do Remus and Dumbledore._

_I'll keep you informed about all that happens while I'm at Durmstrang. And after you get the mirror, we won't have to send letters anymore. We'll be able to talk immediately, as if we're in the same room!_

_H._

Harry folded the written-on parchment and the blank parchment together, and decided that the next morning he would send it off with Hedwig before breakfast. He felt giddy with excitement that he would soon be able to talk to Sirius as if he were there with him and not far away in Azkaban.

* * *

"To commemorate my being chosen as a champion," began Montague, the next night, a dozen or so of the more daring Slytherins standing around him in the common room, "I thought it would be fitting to set off a few Dungbombs around the castle. More importantly in front of Gryffindor Tower. What do you say?"

Harry cheered next to Draco and Blaise, who whistled loudly, two fingers in his mouth. As the others clapped noisily, Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs brought over a small crate of thick, black gloves. He recognized them as the gloves used in Herbology, and he knew they had taken them. But it didn't seem to matter to anyone, and so he ignored it, too.

"Everyone, grab a pair of gloves. I bought six Dungbombs, so that's about one for two people here. I'm going to Gryffindor Tower," said Montague, "if anyone else wants to come they can, but you can set them off wherever you want in the castle. Oh, and if you get caught, don't you dare mention my name or you'll have hell to pay. And believe me, I'm not bloody joking."

Blaise laughed at his words, but Harry said, "I don't think he's joking," and his friend stopped instantly. They put on their gloves, and Draco grabbed one of the charcoal-colored Dungbombs, seeing some residue stain the palm of the gloves.

Harry had brought his Marauder's Map with him, just in case. Montague didn't want to be caught, and neither did he. Snape would have no problem keeping him at Hogwarts if he stepped out of line.

Montague and most of the others were walking out of the common room, so they followed closely behind. "Where do we want to set it off?" Blaise asked. "Gryffindor Tower?"

"No, they're already doing that. And we've done that before, anyway," replied Draco. "We should do something unique, something cool."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "In front of a professor's office? The Great Hall? No, not there, we don't want it to be a place we go to."

"That's a good point."

"Err…what about the Prefects bathroom?" Harry suggested.

Blaise laughed, and some of the others in front of them told him to shut it. "I like that idea. The Prefects bathroom. Perfect!"

"Wait," Harry said, a grin forming on his face, "I've got an even better idea!"

Once in the Entrance Hall, the larger group separated into six smaller clusters of two or three, but the others drifted upstairs to set off their bomb. Harry, Draco, and Blaise remained in the shadow of the stairwell, keeping an eye out. Harry took his Marauder's Map out, tapped his wand to the parchment while saying, "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good_," and checked to make sure the office they were about to enter was vacant.

"It's empty."

"Now can you tell us where you're thinking of?" Draco inquired. He was holding the Dungbomb out a considerable distance in front of him, not wanting to dirty his robes.

"Filch's office."

Grinning widely, their smiles enveloping their faces, Blaise and Draco laughed, probably too loudly. But none of them cared at the moment. They made their way over to the Caretaker's office. Harry had been there a few times before – it had numerous file cabinets full of records on students who had misbehaved, according to Filch. He also knew that there were chains above the desk that he had once used to punish students. A chill went down his back. Good thing they didn't use that anymore. If they were caught, all he would have to do is write lines, and that gave him some comfort as they opened the door to the dark room.

Harry took his wand from his robe pocket. "_Lumos!_" The oiled chains gleamed eerily against the light of his wand.

"Ugh, that's just creepy," Blaise said, looking up at the slightly swaying shackles. "Let's do this quickly. I don't care to be in this room too long."

Harry went into the room first, his light showing where the old desk was. Draco placed the Dungbomb lightly on top of the desk, letting it stain some messily-placed parchment. "Who would like to do the honors?"

"You thought of this, Harry," said Blaise. "You can do the honors." He took his wand from his pocket to illuminate the room, as Harry extinguished his light, walked toward the bomb, and said, "_Incendio!_" A small flame burst from his wand, setting the wick at the top of the Dungbomb alight. It sparked slightly and then caught, and that's when they remembered that they would have to run now, that it would soon burst and anything in its path would spell of dung.

The three boys ran from the room, and Harry, being the last out, closed the door behind him. They hid behind a large statue of armor in a small alcove, smiling and waiting. They were giddy with the adrenaline and the rush of what they had done. Suddenly, they heard awkward, uneven-sounding footsteps – the sound of a boot and a then a clank, and then something else hitting the ground, and then the boot again. And Harry knew it was Mad-Eye Moody. They had to run. He told them who he thought was coming, and just as they were making their way towards the stairway, the Dungbomb burst.

They all gasped at the sound of the compressed explosion, like a firecracker in a metal box, it's full extent snuffed by the restriction, but the noise it made was probably twice as loud as if it had been in an open space. They even saw the door move slightly in its frame and heard the papers fly up around the office. A low ringing chimed in their ears after as they tripped over each other in their haste to get downstairs and away from the new Professor.

After getting into the empty common room, after sitting in the couches, slightly out of breath, the three boys smiled widely and laughed, knowing they had gotten away with ruining Filch's office with one of the banned objects he hated most. They waited there for over twenty minutes, going over the details they enjoyed most – like the sound of the burst, the fact that his files were probably ruined, and what they thought Filch's face would look like when he found out – but the only people who came back was Montague, Pucey, and Higgs.

The next morning they found out that Mad-Eye Moody had been patrolling the fourth floor. Apparently, he heard people whispering and had looked through some walls with his magical eye, and had seen students out after curfew. He had caught most of the students, tying them together with rope, and had then gone to see if he could find others, but had been uneventful.

Harry was sure that Moody knew they were there, if he could see through walls, so why hadn't Snape come in to tell them they were to be punished, that they had detention? Why hadn't Moody told anyone that they had done it? The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. He was absolutely certain Professor Moody knew he had been there with Draco and Blaise, but the only reason he could think of was that maybe he was being lenient since it was the first time he had almost caught them doing something wrong. But it didn't seem like Moody to be lenient. Harry had heard that the students caught had a full week of detention with him. And that made him even more curious, but he let his mind pass over it, he just let it go.

* * *

Harry laid down on his bed, deciding he wasn't in the mood for lunch when he had stuffed his face with food at breakfast and his stomach still ached in pain, even after two hours in class. "Ugh…never again," he muttered to himself. "I'm eating my food slowly tomorrow."

The dormitory room was so quiet. The only times it was like this was before lunch when he went to grab the next class' books and before dinner when he went to put them away. It wasn't even this quiet at night when all the boys were sleeping since Crabbe and Goyle snored so loudly some nights that he wanted to throw a pillow at them, and some nights he did. Sometimes he, Draco, Blaise, or Nott got so fed up that one of them had to put a Silencing Spell on their beds to get a few hours of shut eye.

Harry thought of taking a quick nap, but didn't want to be tired for History of Magic and Divination; those classes were tiring enough. So he just lay there, relaxing. But then he heard a mumbling, someone saying something repeatedly over and over. Harry thought for a moment that he had dozed off, but it was too real-sounding. He looked toward the door, but it wasn't coming from the hall, it was clearly coming from the room.

"_Hmmm…Hmm…Hmmm!_"

Harry got out of bed, turning his head left and right to hear where it was coming from. And that's when he realized it was coming from near his bed, more importantly from his trunk. The Two-Way Mirror! He swung open the trunk quickly and rummaged through his robes until he was holding the small, square mirror tightly in his hands. Instead of his own face in the reflection, he could see Sirius' clearly in the looking glass.

"Sirius!"

"Harry, it's so good to finally see and hear you again," he whispered.

As Harry moved to sit on his bed, he could see that Sirius' black hair was longer, it was uncombed and straggly, like it hadn't been washed in a few days; the space around his bright eyes were darker and more hollow, and his face was thinner, the flush that made him handsome was almost entirely gone. He looked like a man who was stuck in his own thoughts too much, but Harry had to admit that he didn't look as bad as he could – there was something about his eyes and his smile that suggested he wasn't completely unhappy, and Harry knew it had something to do with him.

"It's good to see you, Sirius. You look…well."

Sirius chuckled. "That's crap and you know it. I look like horrible, even I know that and I haven't seen a real mirror in months. You can't fool me, Harry." The boy smiled, and his godfather continued, "I got your letter also, and it's incredibly exciting that the Triwizard Tournament is coming back. I wish it had come back when I was in school. But it's good you got the mirror to me before you left for Durmstrang, because it would've taken twice as long for Hedwig to get to me and then back."

"Yeah, now we can talk whenever we want."

Sirius smiled and nodded. "_Almost_ whenever we want. You can't let anyone find out that you're talking to me. You wouldn't get in trouble, but I would. Not that they can do much worse to me than put me in Azkaban, but I'd rather not let them take the mirror away. Okay?"

"I'll be careful, Sirius, I promise."

"Good, now tell me more about the girl who kissed you. What's her name? What does she look like?"

Harry laughed, blushing. "I don't think you'd want to know her name actually, but she's very pretty."

Sirius' eyebrows lowered and his eyes narrowed when Harry said he wouldn't like to know her name, and he knew he shouldn't have said that. "What's her name, Harry?"

"Err…Pansy Parkinson."

"Parkinson? As in Donovan Parkinson?"

Harry merely nodded.

"I know you can't help being around these people since you're a Slytherin. I also I should come to terms with it, but—?"

"Which part?" Harry asked, suddenly angry. Why couldn't anyone accept that he was Slytherin? He knew his parents had been Gryffindors, but why did it always have to shadow him wherever he went? His own godfather couldn't even leave it alone.

"What?"

"_Which part?_ Which part do you feel you need to come to terms with? Who I hang out with, or that I'm a Slytherin?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Harry?"

"Well, it certainly sounded like you did."

Sirius looked down. Harry heard him sigh. "This is not how I planned our first reunion to go."

"Things never go as planned."

"That's very true," said Sirius. He looked into Harry's eyes again. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. It wasn't done on purpose. I didn't know I had."

"But that's the whole point. I know you didn't do it on purpose, but this is who I am, Sirius. I'm a Slytherin, and the people I associate with are Slytherins. If you need to come to terms with it, then you should do it quickly."

Harry didn't feel like talking anymore. He placed the mirror upside down on his bed, but he could still hear Sirius' voice. "Don't be like that, Harry! Don't just walk away, or whatever you're doing, just because I said something stupid, I say lots of stupid things. I haven't seen you in months; don't stop talking to me because of that. Tell me about the Tournament! What kind of tasks do you think they'll be? C'mon, Harry!"

Staring at the upturned mirror, Harry exhaled loudly, and then reached for it, and brought it back towards his face. Sirius was smiling now, looking relieved.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"It's all right. So what about the tasks? What do you think they'll make the champions do?"

"I hadn't really thought about it. How many tasks are there?"

"If I remember correctly, there are three, and each one gets harder to test them – the tasks test their skills with magic, their stamina and strength, as well as their willpower and determination. These kids really need to be prepared."

"The rules were changed so that only students seventeen and older could enter, but I'm glad they were, I'm not sure I'd want to be a champion."

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to be one either," said Sirius. "I heard that one of the tasks two-hundred years ago tested how long the champions could fight off a Grindylow, and one of them died because the creatures are so aggressive. There've been numerous deaths in the Tournament, probably more than the Ministry would like to say."

"Yeah, I heard that, too. Barty Crouch, Sr. really emphasized that the tasks are dangerous."

"As he should. But I doubt they'll be as gruesome or barbaric as they were hundreds of years ago, though its obvious people themselves haven't changed. The champions really shouldn't worry so much about the tasks as they should about the other champions. There used to be a lot of cheating."

"Really?"

"Of course. It's almost like a fourth task – cheat and devious the others as much as possible. But not everyone cheats, of course, there have been honest champions. But they didn't always win. Life isn't like in books, Harry – the good guy doesn't always win."

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied. "And the bad guy isn't always captured and sent to Azkaban."

Sirius chuckled softly and smiled widely, clearly enjoying this time with his godson, and Harry grinned, too, not wanting to leave in ten minutes to go to class.

"Too true, Harry, too true."

------

**A/N:** Hey guys! Hope you haven't been too depressed since I didn't update last week. Just a side note, I updated my profile with a list of students going to Durmstrang. The reason there are only two 7th years listed is because it was hard to find anyone who was a 7th year while Harry was a 4th year, but really it's not that important. I hope you enjoy the next chapter when it's posted in a week's time!

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Preview of Chapter 9—Sparks of Welcome:

Harry and the others leave Hogwarts, and arrive later in the day at the school of Durmstrang…


	9. Sparks of Welcome

"Advice is seldom welcome, and those who need it the most, like it the least."

-Lord Chesterfield

**9**

**Sparks**** of Welcome**

It seemed as if time itself had rushed forward. One moment Harry was thinking about the seemingly distant future of being in another school, and the next moment he was in the Great Hall with the rest of the school, being told about the trip and what would happen to the students left behind at Hogwarts. The trip to Durmstrang was only a week away. They would be leaving in the early morning of October 30th. He would have to pack soon.

Headmaster Dumbledore was standing in front of the school, his blue eyes twinkling, his glasses reflecting the light of the torches and the fake stars above their heads. "The Hogwarts Express will be transformed somewhat: the compartments will be our sleeping quarters while we're at Durmstrang Institute. There will be two students to each compartment, and it won't be like in the castle – the curfew means the curfew. There will be no leniency while at Durmstrang. Believe me, you won't want to go out at night in those frigid temperatures."

Dumbledore cracked a slight smile, as if laughing at a joke he had made but no one else seemed to understand it, and he seemed fine with that. "Now, I would like you to meet the three substitute teachers who will be taking over for Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Professor Moody, who will be coming with me. The chosen students will be attending classes by them while at Durmstrang since the classes at Durmstrang are taught in Bulgarian, and I do not believe any of you can understand Bulgarian, though correct me if I am wrong."

Harry turned to Draco, eyebrows raised. "Snape, McGonagall, and Moody are coming with us? Why'd he have to choose Snape? Why not Flitwick or Hagrid instead?"

Draco shrugged. "Well, you know how Dumbledore has Snape attached to him like a fifth limb. But maybe Flitwick and Hagrid didn't want to go."

The chatter increased, and Harry looked back to the headmaster, as three individuals walked from the back of the room towards the High Table, invisible up until that point. "Let me introduce you to Professor Bert Nolan, Professor Cecilia Sabine, and Professor Coco Phillip. Professor Nolan will be teaching Transfiguration; he has written many books about the art and its importance to Wizarding society, and is quite masterful with such spells. Professor Sabine will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts; she is an ex-Auror and is proficient with a wand, which you will all come to see. Last but not least is Professor Phillip who will be teaching Potions; he has improved many potions with his unique ingredients, which he administered to hundreds of witches and wizards across the globe while on his travels," Dumbledore explained. "Please give them a warm introduction."

The entire hall broke out into applause. Harry looked over the substitute teachers as he clapped. Nolan was a tall middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes. Sabine was an older woman, perhaps around seventy, but despite her age she looked lively and cheerful, her hair gray, her face lined, but her smile wide. Phillip was a young man, looking at most twenty-seven, his hair was bouncy and sandy brown, his face was handsome and his smile was charming, and he clearly knew it. All the girls were blushing and whispering as they looked at Phillip, obviously talking about him, and he clearly knew that too.

Dumbledore waited for the applause to die down before continuing, "To the students who will be going to Durmstrang, you will be taught classes by Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Professor Snape will we are away. Fourth and fifth years together and sixth and seventh years together since there are so little of you. But you might also be talking one or two classes by the professors at Durmstrang, it hasn't been decided yet. Also, please remember to pack as many layers as you can. But I thought I would inform you that I have asked Madam Malkin to come over tomorrow after classes to make each of you two thick, fur-trimmed robes, free of charge. Instead of your House crest, you will all be wearing the Hogwarts crest as a show of unity, please try to remember this while we are there.

"Now, let's all enjoy a hearty dinner as we welcome our new teachers!" The large silver trays now held warm piles of food, and Harry dug in hungrily, cherishing the British food he was eating since he guessed that when they all went to Durmstrang they would be eating strange Bulgarian, or wherever they were, cooking. He finished his food a half-hour later, feeling satisfied but much too full.

* * *

Tomorrow they would all be leaving, and if Harry wanted to make sure he and Hagrid were still on the way to being friends again, he would have to do it now. He was pretty sure the next time he would see Hagrid would be when they all came back in May, and that was numerous months from now. He didn't want to wait that long to really repair their frienship.

So after class ended, books still in hand, he made his way over to Hagrid's small but inviting cabin. He knocked on the door and after a few seconds it was opened by the tall, bearded man.

"Harry!" Hagrid bellowed, a smile on his face. "How are yeh?"

"Hi, Hagrid! I'm doing well."

Harry followed him into the threshold as Hagrid asked, "Yeh're leaving tomorrow, ain't yeh?"

"Yeah. But I wanted to speak with you first and see how you're doing."

"I've been doin' well enough," Hagrid said, sitting down in a big armchair, and Harry did the same. "The pumpkins are growin' really big for Halloween, and I've been enjoying the cool air every evenin' with Fang. 'Course he gets tired easily. How has school been for yeh, Harry?"

"Not as difficult, it seems, as it might be. All the teachers are preoccupied with the tournament and haven't been giving as much work, except Snape of course. He seems to be giving _more_ homework," Harry replied. "But with the tournament there isn't any Quidditch, and I miss flying around on my broom. I'm going to bring it with me to Durmstrang though."

"I'll miss watchin' the Quidditch games this year. And o' course I'll miss you and the others going. Hogwarts is goin' teh feel emptier without yeh."

Harry smiled, his eyes down at the table in front of them. "Thanks, Hagrid. I'm going to miss you too."

Hagrid sprung up from his chair. "How could I forget to ask? Would yeh like some tea?"

"Sure."

"Yeh said there was something you wanted teh talk about, Harry?" The overcoat-wearing man asked, his back now turned to Harry.

"Err…yeah, it's about last year in relation to this year. It's just…things between us are patched up, right? I know you can't completely forgive me, I understand that, but…what I mean is you're not angry with me anymore for what I did, right?"

Hagrid turned around quite suddenly and looked over at Harry, his expression of slight surprise. "Yeh think I'm still worrying about that, Harry? Sometimes I think about it, but that's only when Ron and Hermione and Neville come over. What you did was very inappropriate, and yeh know that, but yeh shouldn't be worrying about whether I think about it, yeh should be worrying about Ron and Hermione and they're feelings. But I know that the three o' you, don't speak anymore, depressing as that is," he explained. "But, Harry, I'm not angry with yeh anymore, you should've known that. I sent you a letter fer yer birthday and you came over during the summer. I thought that was pretty clear."

Harry sighed in relief, pleased to know they were indeed friends again as he had hoped. Hagrid set two cups of steaming tea on the table and then patted him on the back, rather roughly, though he knew Hagrid didn't mean to.

"I'm glad you're not mad at me any longer, Hagrid. I didn't want to leave for Durmstrang without knowing that."

"Since yeh're leaving yeh have teh write me, Harry, I want teh know all about the dangerous tasks that the champions'll have to face. Tell me if there are any magnificent creatures as part of the tasks. Yeh know how I like magical creatures."

"Perhaps too much," Harry said, smiling.

"Yeh can never like somethin' too much, I reckon," Hagrid stated. "Just shows you're passionate and committed."

"Or obsessed."

Hagrid laughed and Harry joined in, their chuckles filling the cabin and flying out the slightly open window. It was while they were laughing, and making jokes while they could, knowing Harry would be leaving the next day, that there was a knock on the door.

While Harry sipped his warm tea, Hagrid got up, his footfalls strident in sound. He heard Hagrid say, "Oh, hello! How are yeh three doin'? Good, good. I have a visitor, but come inside." There was shuffling of feet, and a familiar voice asked, "Who's your visitor, Hagrid?" Harry looked up from his cup of tea, and Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom spotted him, and stopped talking.

"Oh, it's _you_," Weasley stated, none too kindly.

"Right back at you," Harry replied. He stood, setting his cup on the table.

"Leaving already? How terrible," the red-haired boy said sarcastically.

Hagrid made his way through Granger and Longbottom, where were standing nearer to the door. "Harry was 'ere first, Ron," he said. "He's my guest, just like yeh, and if yeh do not want teh stay then it's because _you_ want teh leave, not because yer makin' him."

"You're going to take his side! Don't you remember what he said to me and Hermione last year?" Weasley inquired, sounding appalled. His cheeks and ears were growing as red as his hair.

"Hagrid, he's quite right," Granger said, stepping forward. "Potter was wrong, not Ron, and yet you're going to let Ron leave?"

"I don' want any o' yeh to leave," Hagrid replied. "I'm only sayin' that Harry was 'ere first. How would yeh like it if I threw yeh two out if he came 'round, eh?"

Granger nodded, clearly understanding, but Weasley, face still flushed in irritation, would not see the other side. If anything, though, Harry felt that he should be the angry one – they ruined his pleasant evening with Hagrid, whom he won't see for over seven months. He felt he should be the one to punch Weasley in the face, not that he suspected it would come to that.

"All o' yeh sit down and I'll make yeh some tea," Hagrid said, trying to facilitate the unpleasantness of the situation.

"I'll have a cup!" Longbottom piped. He shrank in size when Weasley and Granger glared at him, and Harry managed to conceal a smile.

"Hagrid, don't worry about it," Harry finally said. "Thanks for defending me, but I'll leave. I'll write you from Durmstrang. 'Night, Hagrid." He took the last swig of his barely warm tea and walked toward the door, glaring at Weasley on the way.

" 'Night, Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed.

As Harry closed the door, he heard his large friend ask, "Now, who would like some tea?" and he couldn't help but smile, despite who he was serving the tea to. Instead of immediately going back into the castle, he took to walking along the edge of the Black Lake, seeing the wind make tiny waves upon the surface of the dark water.

* * *

Harry sat atop his freshly packed trunk, breathing unevenly and quickly. Packing was a touch job. He had made sure to put the Two-Way mirror in a safe place. Snape had come in earlier to tell he and Draco, and the other Slytherins going, to only pack the robes he would need and to leave the thin, summer robes behind on their beds to save room. He had also left the textbooks he wouldn't need behind, like Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, History of Magic, and Herbology; though he had thought the Charms book might come in handy. And he had also placed his new, thick black robes with a clean, brightly-colored Hogwarts crest in his trunk, but for now he would wear his Slytherin robes.

He grabbed the handle of his trunk and the cage with Hedwig inside and left his dormitory room with Draco behind him. The two of them met Blaise, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson in the common room. Harry shook each of their hands as they wished he and Draco a good time. Pansy quickly hugged him, her slight arms around middle, and then she moved onto Draco. Blaise was the only guy who shook his hand and then gave him a quick embrace, knowing they wouldn't see the other until May.

"You better write me about the tasks and how cool they are," Blaise said, "or I'll come over there and beat you with your own broom."

Harry chuckled. "Will do, mate." He turned and saw that Draco was brushing away some hair from Pansy's pale, sad face.

The other Slytherins were already leaving and Snape, a bag over his shoulder and a large trunk standing beside him, was glaring at them. He cleared his throat, and Harry and Draco knew they had to leave. They said goodbye and followed Adrian Pucey, Terence Higgs, and Professor Snape out of the common room, making their way up the stairs and to the Entrance Hall, where all the other departing students and teachers were waiting. Headmaster Dumbledore was standing near the open doors, his own thin, pale hands holding a large, dark blue trunk. He motioned for them to follow, and the whole group left the castle, some yawning from the early time of day while some were smiling widely, clearly excited.

The Hogwarts Express, seemingly the same as it usually was, was waiting for them at the train platform, thick smoke rising out of the protruding chute at the front. When they all went inside, Harry realized that it was much wider and much bigger than he was used to. Professor McGonagall handed out rooms as the students walked in, asking who the person wanted to bunk with, so Harry and Draco managed to get a room together near the center of the train between a room with Roger Davies and Cormac McLaggen, and Susan Bones and Hermione Granger.

Harry opened the door to his compartment to find that there were two beds on either side that seemed to be a mixture of a cot and a couch, but they looked comfortable and so he was pleased. There was only about five feet between each bed, but there was space underneath them for their trunks, there were two shelves above each bed, and there was a large, operable window opposite the compartment door.

"This doesn't seem too bad," said Harry, resting his trunk against his bed.

"Are you kidding? There's hardly any space in here to breathe, let alone do any work," replied Draco. But just as he was about to continue, there was a knock on their open door, and they saw Pucey standing there. "Did you mates see the Interchangeable Room?"

"That what?" Draco asked.

"Dumbledore just showed a bunch of students the room. It's at the very end. C'mon, let's go see it."

They followed Pucey and Higgs, who had been leaning against the corridor wall, to the room, where most of the students already were. Dumbledore was smiling widely. "This is the Interchangeable Room. I designed it personally for our time at Durmstrang. During the day it will be a room for studying, for completely your homework. There will be long wooden tables and armchairs, like there are at the very moment, but once its evening the room will modify itself and there will be plenty of colorful couches and small tables to play Chess or card games. This room was intended to be used as much as you all desire, student and teacher alike, so please do not be hesitant to utilize it."

The train left fifteen minutes later, when all the students and teachers were back in their own rooms. Harry looked out of the window to see that the rest of the school, all students and staff, was standing at the top of the high, grassy cliff. The Hogwarts Express hooted loudly, like a massive owl, and started forward, slowly gaining momentum. The people left behind began to wave and cheer, the sound drifting toward them, as if carried on the wind from far away. Soon the large, looming castle was getting smaller with every pace, and Harry was hurt to see that they were leaving their beloved Hogwarts behind for a strange, unknown place.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express, surprisingly, though Harry in actuality shouldn't have been surprised at all, glided smoothly onto the surface of the Channel when solid earth disappeared beneath the metal structure. The weather they left behind in England was sunny, but as they made their way across Europe, it seemed as if every hour or so the weather changed slightly, from cloudy skies to a downpour of rain to sunny once again and then back.

Harry and Draco, after unpacking a few things to put on the shelves above their beds, went into the Interchangeable Room, where numerous people were already waiting out the travel to Durmstrang. Most were watching a Chess game between McGonagall and Angela Johnson, and so Harry looked on as well. Apparently, Mad-Eye Moody, who was sitting at the head of the long table, both eyes on the little Chess figures, said he would challenge the winner, so the game was drawing more and more spectators. In the end, McGonagall won and they exchanged hand shakes. Johnson got up from her seat and Moody took her place.

The Chess table was reset and the game began. Each professor took several minutes to mull over their next move; the room remained almost completely silent. Occasionally, Moody's magical eye searched the crowd of faces around him, as if it was helping him come up with a strategy. Even Dumbledore came in at one point, but when Montague asked him which side he was on, he said he chose no side in this matter and that he wished them both good luck.

After nearly an hour and a half, the game was coming to a close, but it was so close that Harry wasn't sure who would win. At the last moment, Moody, in his gruff voice, said, "Check mate!" He used his queen to knock over her king, the hard sound echoing loudly as glass met glass.

"Oh…_you!_" McGonagall said, clearly about to curse at him. "That was a fine game, Mad-Eye."

"Indeed. Never have a had such an adequate rival in Chess as you, Minerva."

"Why, thank you."

The group applauded Moody's win and then broke apart. Harry and Draco played Exploding Snap for a while as the sky deepened in color much quicker as they crossed time zones.

An hour before they were set to arrive at Durmstrang, Dumbledore came into the Interchangeable Room to tell them to change into one of their new robes. Harry and Draco went back to their room and pulled off their thin, Slytherin robes to put on their new, thick, Hogwarts robes. His new robes were soft from not being used, and there was no piling yet under the arms and in places that rubbed, though Harry knew eventually there would be.

Harry sat by the window with Draco, watching the dark horizon as the train drew ever closer to their destination. What would Durmstrang look like? Was it a castle like Hogwarts or was it something else entirely? What would the students be like? Surely growing up in another country they would be different, but how much so?

"What do you think their school looks like?" Harry asked.

"I heard it's also castle," replied Draco, his breath fogging up the window. He wrote "Malfoy" with a finger in the cloud of fog he had made.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Draco said unemotionally, distractedly, "but I also heard that it's not as impressive as Hogwarts."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." But Harry didn't believe him.

"What's wrong…? Oh, is it Parkinson? You miss her?"

"I'm not going to see her until May. We're going to write, but it's not the same."

Harry didn't know what to say, what words would comfort his friend, so he just padded Draco's shoulder, as they both stared out into the darkness. Sooner than they expected, they began to see something against the horizon, a light that was growing brighter and larger. It wasn't just one light, it was many lights; it was hundreds of lit windows. But the stone structure was only four stories high with only two towers, and definitely not as impressive as Hogwarts, like Draco had said. But Harry gaped, awestruck, at the grounds surrounding the fortress. It was a massive expanse of grass, much larger than Hogwarts' grounds, going farther than Harry could see in the darkness and undoubtedly farther than he could imagine. There were barely any trees around, no forest in sight – they could walk, or fly, for miles.

The Hogwarts Express came to a halt farther from the castle than Harry liked. They would have to walk for at least fifteen minutes to get to the entrance, which he could see was open; warm yellow light spilled out onto stone steps. Everyone got out of their compartments and stood in the corridor. Dumbledore was standing at the end of the corridor, wearing extravagant light blue robes and a floppy, pointed cap above his white hair. His long beard seemed to have been combed and trimmed.

The headmaster cleared his throat and said, "I know you all may be a bit apprehensive at being at a different school, but they are a welcoming bunch, and I am completely positive that you all will have a terrific time during our stay. One thing before we make the trip up to the castle, after we get into their entrance hall, only the champions will initially go on into the Dining Hall, for reasons you will come to see. The rest of you will have to watch from the hall. But why don't we go up for our welcome."

Dumbledore took out his wand and flicked it at the train door opening. Harry couldn't see what he had done, but as the line of students moved up, he knew the stairs leading to the ground had been his headmaster's doing. They trekked up the slightly sloping grounds as the chilly air blew around. Harry pulled the collar closer around his neck. Only a few feet from the castle, they heard a distant sound that was like a mixture of a moan and a roar. The students and teachers looked around them, but saw nothing in the dark expanse. But then someone said, "Look! Up in the sky!"

Flying towards the castle was a large, pale blue carriage, and what had made the sound was the small fleet of winged horses that were pulling the beautiful stagecoach. It seemed to shine, even in the darkness, from the lights of the castle, and as it got closer, Harry could see that it was decorated with gold.

The Hogwarts group stopped where they were to watch as the carriage flew down, going at a gradual incline, towards the ground. The winged horses touched down first, then the carriage they pulled. Unbelievably, it barely made a sound. They had stopped some distance from the castle as well.

"Let's keep going," Dumbledore instructed. "We'll meet them inside in due time." Harry followed the group, but watched out of the corner of his eye as the carriage door opened to reveal golden stairs. They went up the stairs and inside and the carriage was hidden from view.

Waiting for them inside was a small, skinny house elf, ears droopy and eyes too large, wearing a fur-trimmed but ratty cloth. He greeted them with a nod of his head, and said, "Welcome. Please wait a few moments while the students from Beauxbatons arrive."

The entrance hall was smaller than the one at Hogwarts, and there were fewer torches lit, making the room dimmer. Their shadows danced happily on the walls, just as jittery-looking as the students themselves. The Dining Hall doors were closed, but they could hear the sound of talking on the other side, the words indistinguishable, though Harry supposed their headmaster was talking in Bulgarian. As they waited, Dumbledore spoke with the champions. They huddled in a small group, their backs turned to the students who were merely tagging along. What was so important that only the champions could go in first?

But Harry didn't have much time to think about it because he heard light, quick footsteps coming up the stairs to the castle. He turned to see a group of nearly a dozen girls and some guys, dressed in pale blue robes of silk. His mouth dropped open slightly – they were the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. He noticed their soft hair, their pretty faces that weren't covered in make-up, and their slight bodies. Draco nudged his arm even though he was already looking. He had to consciously stop himself from staring.

At the back of the group, standing at least three heads above the tallest boy, was a graceful-looking woman with olive skin, black eyes, and short, dark hair. She was dressed head to toe in black satin, the only other color about her were the pale opals dangling about her neck.

"Ah, Dumbledore!" she exclaimed. Her students parted to let her pass and she shook hands with Dumbledore, who had walked forward to meet her.

"Madame Maxime, a pleasure, as always," he said.

"You are much too kind, Dumbledore," Madam Maxime replied, her accent thick and yet still pleasant to listen to.

The house elf, who Harry was sure they had all forgotten was there, cleared his throat, and said, "We are ready for you, Madame Maxime."

The Beauxbaton students gathered in front of the Dining Hall doors, Madame Maxime standing proudly behind them. The door opened just enough for them to enter, someone said, "Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!" and Harry observed from against the wall as the girls and boys ran forward gracefully. Watching intently, he saw the boys run further forward and then do a few flips in the air, as the girls stopped momentarily every few feet to sigh noisily but sweetly. As they did, small blue birds flew out from their cupped hands. They halted and bowed a few feet from a long table at the end of the room, where a man with dark hair, a short thick beard, and hollowed eyes was standing. He applauded with the rest of the room as the Beauxbaton students moved to stand off to the side. He reached his hand to Madame Maxime, before she joined her students.

The headmaster, whose smile was not kind, extended his arm toward the entrance hall, and said, "Hogwarts School of Vitchcraft and Vizardry!"

The Hogwarts championed were already waiting by the doors, standing in small rows of two, like they were about to walk down the aisle of a wedding. He noticed that they all had their wands out, pointing directly down, in the hand facing out. They walked forwards slowly, Dumbledore trailing behind them, and at first they did nothing, but then they began to sing – a low, sweet tune with no words, as if they were warming up.

"Ah…Ahh…Ahhh…Ahh…Ah…_Ahhhhh!_"

On the last note, they instantly raised their wands into the air. It was so quick. Flashes of light filled the room. Sparks dazzled, flying high into room, and exploded into small fireworks. Every other person in line, lowered their arm and let red, yellow, blue, and green exploding-less sparks fly out over the heads of the Durmstrang students, while the others, hands still raised above their heads, continued to make small fireworks explosions. It was only after they stopped to bow that Harry realized they had still been singing while the sparks had been flying down upon the people in the room.

Durmstrang's headmaster stepped down from the raised platform that the staff table resided, where all the other professors were sitting, to shake Dumbledore's hand. He placed his other hand on Dumbledore's shoulder, as if they were old friends, but something seemed strange about their meeting, almost unfriendly, distant. Harry watched Dumbledore nod and then turn around to motion to McGonagall for them to join him.

McGonagall told them to line up in twos with the person they were sharing a room with, so Harry, at the front of the line with Draco, followed McGonagall, Snape, and Moody into the Dining Hall. The room was almost as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but the ceiling was much lower and plainer, showing only the wood rafters above. The one main difference in the room that Harry immediately saw was that the tables weren't four long, rectangular rows, they were twelve, large circular tables, six on either side of the room. As he walked down the main aisle, the students dressed in fur-trimmed, blood red robes began staring at him and whispering amongst themselves.

"_It's __Harry Potter,_" someone whispered loudly. Snape, who was standing in front of Harry, turned and glared at him, as if being recognized was his fault.

The Durmstrang headmaster shook the hands of McGonagall, Moody, and Snape, their handshake lingering the longest, and then saw him and exclaimed, "Mr. Harry Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Surprised at being addressed, Harry said nothing at first, and only shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Headmaster…"

"Igor Karkaroff." The man's hollow eyes were dark, almost black, and cold. His pale face almost had shadowy undertones to it, as if his skin was white paint splashed on a black wall, and couldn't quite hide the darkness beneath.

There were two empty tables for the Hogwarts students and one on the other side of the room for the Beauxbatons. The professors joined the staff table as Headmaster Karkaroff took his place in front of the room.

"_Dobre doshli!_ Velcome!" Karkaroff exclaimed.

------

**A/N:** Hmm…do you think that since Professor Sabine is only the substitute Dark Arts teacher that she'll be fine? Guess again! But one thing that makes me really sad is that since Hagrid isn't going to Durmstrang, he won't be able to meet Madam Maxime – a relationship that will never be. So sad.

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 10—Encounters:

Karkaroff explains the Triwizard Tournament in more detail, telling the students about the Goblet of Fire; Harry meets Viktor Krum, and hears part of a conversation between Karkaroff and Snape…


	10. Encounters

"Men often compete with one another until the day they die; comradeship consists of rubbing shoulders jocularly with a competitor."

-Edward Hoagland

**10**

**Encounters**

"Velcome, guests, our friends!" Karkaroff was now holding a golden goblet in his right hand. "I have the admirable fortune of welcoming you all to Durmstrang. I trust you all will find your stay here quite comfortable and pleasant."

He motioned toward a dark, thin, and slightly hunched figure standing off to the side. The man was holding a large wooden, jewel-encrusted chest; he seemed to be having trouble carrying it. The students around them began to murmur between them. Draco, who was sitting beside him, asked what it was, but Harry just shrugged. Karkaroff took out his long, dark wooden wand and created a small table in front of him for the chest to be placed upon. The hunched man moved away, back to the shadows, and the focus was now concentrated on the unopened chest.

"Although the Triwizard Tournament vill officially open after our feast tonight, I thought it vould help those who vish to a champion to see the neutral selector," explained Karkaroff. "But before we get ahead of ourselves, let me introduce two people who most people here are unfamiliar with." The doors to the Dining Hall opened. "This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." There was a sporadic clattering of applause since most didn't know who they were, and then the students eyes turned back to the chest, as the two men took seats at the staff table.

"Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman will be joining myself, Professor Dumbledore and Madame Maxime as judges for the tournament." Karkaroff cleared his throat. "Now, as you all know, there will be three tasks during the course of this school year, and they vill test the champions that vill be chosen this year. Each task vill test the champions on their magical skill, their daring, and their ability to cope with hazards of varying sorts. The three champions, one from each participating school, vill be chosen by the Goblet of Fire."

Karkaroff, his wand already in the hand not holding the glass, tapped the chest three times with his wand. It opened on its own slowly, as if it was taking pleasure in making them wait. The Durmstrang Headmaster placed his wand in his pocket and put his glass down, and then reached forward and took out a massive, wooden goblet. It didn't look important or remarkable at all – if anything it was incredibly ancient-looking, but instead of some liquid inside there were blue-white flames crackling slightly in the silence of the room. Harry couldn't stop staring at the dancing flames, as Karkaroff closed the lid and placed the Goblet of Fire on top. Everyone could see it from its lovely perch.

"Anyone who vishes to be a champion, that is, anyone who is over the age of seventeen and vishes to be a champion, must write their name and school on a slip of parchment and drop it into the flames. After our feast, you vill have until this time tomorrow to place your name in. At the Halloween feast tomorrow, the names will be selected and the three champions vill be known to us all."

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Karkaroff seemed to nod slightly, as if he had forgotten something. "For those who think they might be able to put their name in, despite their age, Professor Dumbledore vill be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. You do not vant to cross it if you are under seventeen, I guarantee you that. Now, for the final matter, let me just quickly impart that if you are thinking about being a champion, please consider your initial gut reaction because this tournament is not to be taken lightly because once you are selected there is no going back – you vill have to see this through to the very end.

"Now, I think ve've had enough of all this business," Karkaroff said. "Please, eat and drink and enjoy yourselves!"* The doors opened once more as the headmaster went around the table to take his seat. Dozens of house elves came in, each carrying a silver tray of food or drinks. A certain number of trays were placed upon each table by the elves, who almost had to balance the trays above their heads to get them onto the tables, and then they walked out in an organized line, like the way they had come in.

Harry, thinking the house elves were certainly different than the food magically appearing, immediately dug into the food there. Most things were meat, he saw, like chicken and veal, and then there was a hearty stew, a tray full of cooked vegetables, and a few things that he wasn't quite sure what they were. Luckily, he found that there was pumpkin juice and poured a glass for himself.

People were getting up and going over to different tables to chat and mingle. Harry was drinking some juice, when Draco tapped his shoulder so hard that he had nearly been pushed. His pumpkin juice dribbled down his chin, wetting his new robes. "Harry! Harry!"

"What? What?" Harry asked, slightly irritated.

"It's Viktor Krum!"

"The Quidditch player? Are you sure?" Harry turned in his seat in the direction Draco was staring and saw the dark hair, the thick eyebrows, and the curved nose of the famous Quidditch player.

"Of course I'm sure," Draco responded. "We should go over and talk to him. It would only be right for a Malfoy, and for you, to go over and introduce ourselves."

"You're talking as if we're at some snazzy party or something."

"It's a feast, that's kind of the same thing."

"You just want his autograph."

"No I don't."

But Harry didn't bother to argue further. Of course Draco wanted Krum's autograph, everyone did. He was a professional Quidditch player and he was famous. And just as he was thinking that, a girl only a year or two younger than him, wearing blood red robes, came up to him. He noticed that she was holding a piece of parchment and a quill. Her face was flushed and she looked nervous.

"Hello," she said.

"Um, hi."

"Vood you give me an autograph, Harry Potter?"

"Sure, no problem." He took the quill from her and signed his name in his unorganized handwriting, but she didn't seem to mind. She took back the quill, mutter thank you quickly, and then scampered off cheerfully.

"Maybe I should be asking iyou/i for your autograph instead," Draco said, taking a sip from his glass.

"Maybe you should, everyone else is doing it."

"That was one person."

But Harry nodded his head to the left, where three more girls were rushing over with parchment. As he was signed his autograph, another, much taller figure came over, but he only realized when Draco prodded his shoulder. Viktor Krum was standing in front of them.

"Ah, it is you," Krum said. "I vanted to meet the famoos Harry Potter."

"I could say the same thing about you actually," Harry divulged. "Me and my friend, Draco Malfoy, were going to come over to introduce ourselves before I was…bombarded."

"It is a pleasure to meet you." The two of them shook hands and then Krum did the same with Draco. "Vill you be putting your name in the Goblet?"

"I'm not old enough. Only fourteen."

"I did not realize."

Draco interjected. "You're still in school? Don't you just want to do Quidditch?"

"Yes, I enjoy Quidditch very much, but I thought it vas very important to finish school first."

"I understand," Draco and Harry said at the same time.

"Are _you_ going to put your name in?" Harry inquired.

"Vell, of course," Krum replied. His eyes glanced over at his headmaster. "Karkaroff vishes me to be the champion, and I have vorked hard training to be prepared." He cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "Vell, I vill see you later."

Krum walked away, the gaze of many girls following as he did, and Harry and Draco took their seats, feeling better for having talked to the famed Quidditch player. Across the table, Harry spotted Weasley glaring at him, his face slightly red, and he knew that he was jealous that he had spoken with Krum. He smirked, knowing Draco would, and Weasley turned away. Harry's smirk widened.

After over an hour, the Durmstrang students started to leave, some yawning. Harry wondered how they could be tired with such excitement coursing through the room and through his own veins. He was intensely curious about who would be chosen tomorrow as the three champions. He also couldn't believe that he had had doubts about coming to Durmstrang; he had only been here less than two hours and already he couldn't imagine still being at Hogwarts, though he missed his home a lot. Maybe being here was a much needed break from the familiarity of Hogwarts, maybe this was a good thing.

Dumbledore motioned for the Hogwarts students to go back to the train, and they grouped into small clumps, still chatting about the feast, on the way to their residence. After getting into his compartment, Harry slumped onto his small bed, as did Draco, who yawned multiple times. Harry stared out of the window for some time until he heard movement in the corridor. He got up and turned to ask what Draco thought it was, but saw his friend sleeping, mouth slightly open, and decided not to disturb him.

He opened the compartment door quietly and peered out to find Dumbledore talking to the champions. "If you are going to place your name into the Goblet, you should do it now before it gets too dark. But please think it over one last time before you make your final decision, as this tournament is quite virulent, and I would hate to see any of you be chosen and then not want to participate," he explained, his spectacles gleaming in the lightly blazing torches that hung on the train walls. "Good night to you all." He opened a compartment door and went in, as the champions stood there quietly for a moment.

p"Well, I don't know about any of you, but I'm ready to be Hogwarts champion," said Montague, his tall, thick figure set against the light. He exited through the train door, and Harry could hear his loud footsteps outside. The others muttered amongst themselves, agreeing that they wanted to be champion too, and followed suit. Harry wanted to follow as well to see the parchment be devoured by the Goblet of Fire, but he was much too tired to take out his Invisibility Cloak now and merely wanted sleep.

As he was about to shut his door, he heard another one opening. He closed his slowly until it was open just enough for him to peek out of. At the end of the corridor, where the professors slept in their single rooms, a large figure with a wooden leg was striding toward the exit.

What was Moody doing going out to the castle? Certainly he wasn't going to put his name in – he was a professor and probably not eligible to enter. So what was he doing? Then the thought occurred to him that maybe Moody was going to meet someone. Though who did he know at a school he's most likely never been to before?

Harry yawned and closed the door, too tired to think on it further. He then allowed himself to sleep in his new robes that were as thick as a blanket.

* * *

Harry awoke earlier than he usually did. Maybe it was the exhilaration he was feeling, or maybe it was because he was hungry, he didn't know. But he dressed in his thick Hogwarts robe, combed his hair a bit, and left Draco to sleep, seeing as they didn't have class on Saturdays.

As he closed his compartment door, he heard someone walking. Professor McGonagall was also going towards the exit. She seemed to have heard him because she turned and said, "Good morning, Mr. Potter."

"Good morning, Professor."

"Are you as famished as I am?" she asked, as he met her stride and she opened the door into the open air. Her gray hair was pulled back into her usual, tight bun, and though she was a stern woman she looked softer in the morning light.

"Yes, I'm extremely famished," he replied. "I think it's all this excitement. I can't wait to see who will be chosen tonight."

"I agree," she said. They walked on the soft grass towards the stone fortress. "I'm curious as to who the Goblet will choose."

"How does the Goblet choose, Professor? The only thing written on that paper is their name and school. How can it choose when there is nothing about their character written on it?"

"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Potter, but it's a wise question." The two of them walked up the stairs to the entrance hall. He grabbed the handle and held open the door for her. "Thank you. May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Harry said. A few blood red-robed students were walking into the Dining Hall.

"If you were old enough, do you think you would have placed your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Without even considering, Harry answered, "No, I don't think so. Not that the idea of challenging others isn't entertaining since I like Quidditch, but this seems different. This is a spectacle, not a game. If you ask me, I'm famous enough."

McGonagall smiled genuinely at him as they stood outside the opened doors to the Dining Hall. "Good answer. Have a nice breakfast." She nodded at him, and then walked away down the aisle toward the staff table, where numerous Durmstrang teachers were seated as well as Snape. After a moment, Harry followed. The circular tables were mostly empty, but he saw Krum sitting alone, so he joined him.

"Good morning, Krum."

The dark-eyed young man glanced up at him, a hint of a smile showing. "Please, call me Viktor."

"And you can call me Harry," he said, helping himself to eggs, bacon, and sausage. "Did you put your name in?"

pViktor nodded. "I poot my name in last night. I thought I vould be the only one there, but there vas a small crowd. Two boys vith red hair tried to get past the Age Line, and though they managed to get across it, the Goblet vouldn't take their parchment, and then they vere thrown back and had large, vhite beards. Your headmaster has a good sense of humor. They looked like him."

"Yeah, he does have a good sense of humor."

"You are lucky then. Karkaroff has no sense of humor at all."

"No offense, but he looks like a man who never smiles."

Viktor shrugged. "I take no offense. It is true."

Harry leaned back in his seat to look at the Age Line – it was a misty haze of green that was just visible. Standing at the center of the circle was the raised wooden Goblet, the blue-white flames of the small blaze still going strong. It was as if time had not passed since he had first set his eyes upon it the day before. It was remarkable.

"Is it difficult being a student and being a professional Quidditch player?" Harry asked. Students from the three schools were filing in, sitting at any table they chose. He rather liked the integration of students; it was refreshing.

"At times it can be difficult. I sometimes have to miss class to go to a match or to travel, and then I have to catch up, vich I do not like very mooch. But Karkaroff does not mind that I have to leave a lot."

"You're lucky you get to travel and see the world. This is my first time outside of England."

Viktor shook his head, as if what Harry had said was wrong. "I travel, but I do not see any of the vorld, I do not see any of the cities I go to. My team and I go to match, sign autographs, and then leave to go to another place. I vould not call that traveling, just being hauled around."

"Well, maybe after you leave school, you can go on holiday, and really see the world."

"Yes, I vould like that very mooch. But now I must concentrate on the tournament. Karkaroff has told me that the tasks vill be very dangerous."

"Did he tell you what the tasks are?"

"No," Viktor said, shaking his head. "I do not think he knows yet."

"Will he tell you when he finds out?" Harry asked.

"Of course. He vants me to vin. Vouldn't you tell your student if you vere a headmaster?"

Harry shrugged. "But isn't that cheating?"

"Harry, this is the Triwizard Tournament. I do not like it, but everyone cheats."

* * *

Harry left the compartment a few hours later to walk around the corridors of Durmstrang while Draco wrote Pansy Parkinson a letter. He didn't say it was a love letter, but Harry had guessed as much. The hallways were thinner and the ceiling was lower than in Hogwarts. He knew he should stop comparing this school to Hogwarts, but he couldn't help it. And he knew he would continue to do so until he got more acquainted with this place.

He walked around the second floor, after finding that in addition to the four floors above ground there was another below. Despite thick-paned windows and not as many of them as at Hogwarts, the corridors were breezy, as if the wind was squeezing its way through the stones into the castle. He walked for a long time, coming across many students along the way, some Durmstrang and some from his school or Beauxbatons that were also wandering. He found a trophy room, like at Hogwarts, and he examined some of the dusty awards and medals until he got bored and moved on.

As he rounded a corner on the third floor, Harry heard low voices, and took a few steps back to peer out instead. He heard the thickly accent of Karkaroff and the smooth voice of Snape. He could hear their light footsteps as they moved down the hall toward Harry.

"I vas not sure you vould be coming here, Severus," Karkaroff stated. "I had thought you vould stay at Hogwarts."

"Professor Dumbledore said that he would like it if I joined him, so I obliged. Is that a problem, Karkaroff?"

"There is no problem in your staying here, Severus. You are velcome here."

"Is that so?" Snape asked. "I can't help but think that you would rather not have me at your school."

"Why vould give you such an idea?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You don't like the company you keep to be old…_friends_, let's say," Snape replied. They were closer to the end of the hall, and by the time Harry realized that he should hide it was much too late. Regrettably, there were no suits of armor at Durmstrang.

"Yes, that's true. But you are the first old _friend_ I have seen in quite some time. And I see no reason to vorry about that."

The two professors turned the corner to find Harry standing there. He straightened in posture when he found himself being surveyed by both teachers; he could feel his face growing warm. Though Karkaroff was staring at him curiously, he especially didn't like the dark look Snape was giving him, though he should be used to it by now. Unfortunately, he wasn't.

"Of course. We're half way across the world, and yet you still manage to disrupt my conversations and daily life in general, don't you, Potter?" Snape drawled.

Harry didn't respond, but luckily he didn't have to because Karkaroff said, "It is nice to see you again, Mr. Potter."

"And you, Professor Karkaroff."

"Have you enjoyed your stay so far?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Do not waste your pleasantries on him, Karkaroff. Harry Potter has no regard for rules or things of the like," Snape interjected, his cold eyes boring into Harry.

"He's a young man, Severus, and what young man has regard for rules?" Karkaroff smiled slightly, but the features of his face barely moved to accommodate this gesture, and it was clear he didn't smile very often. "Pay him no attention, Mr. Potter; I have not seen Severus in years and yet he remains as distrustful and cynical as ever."

Harry chuckled slightly at Karkaroff's words, and then the headmaster of Durmstrang walked away, leaving him alone with his dark, greasy professor.

"Do not laugh at me again, Potter. Do you understand?" Snape pressed.

"But you're allowed to mock me in front of others? Like, let's see, a minute ago."

Snape scowled. His voice was low as he said, "I am your teacher, Potter, your elder."

"And so that gives you the right?" Harry replied angrily. "I guess you think that if you can punch me, you can laugh at me as well then."

Snape's dark glare instantly changed. He looked taken aback. Harry didn't realize he would hit a nerve with his professor, but he didn't regret it. There were too many times when Snape had done the exact thing to him, too many times in fact, and he wouldn't give up the opportunity.

His professor opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, and said nothing. Pleased that he had snubbed Snape, he turned on his heel and walked away. And somehow he felt better for being able to walk away from him than it being the opposite.

* Speech paraphrased and quoted from Dumbledore's speech in _Goblet of Fire_.

**A/N:** I hate to do this to you guys again, but I need one more week off (its finals week for me) and then I'll be able to post, uninterrupted, for months! So I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and you're next chapter will be posted May 15th, the day Angels and Demons comes out! I can't wait to see that movie, but anyway, have a good weekend!

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Preview of Chapter 11—The Fourth of Three:

The champions are chosen, Harry as an unwilling fourth, which arouses suspicion from Karkaroff and ignites a fight between Harry and Draco; and someone overhears Harry talking to Sirius…


	11. The Fourth of Three

"Swallow a toad in the morning if you want to encounter nothing more disgusting the rest of the day."

-Chamfort

**11**

**The Fourth of Three**

The Dining Hall was decorated sparingly for Halloween with a pumpkin at the center of each table and with orange and black streamers dangling lightly from the rafters. Harry missed all the commotion about Halloween at Hogwarts, where the Great Hall would have been adorned to the brim with Hagrid's massive pumpkins, the jack-o-lanterns floating in the air, the school ghosts that would tell stories of the past, and the large amount of orange, holiday-themed food.

But it didn't bother him as much as it might have because the room was filled with the students and professors, as they waited for the Goblet of Fire to tell them which three students would be given the honor of being a champion. Harry waited anxiously at one of the round tables between Draco and Adrian Pucey.

The room was silent with anticipation. Karkaroff was standing in front of the Goblet, its blue-white flames still crackling. Abruptly, the flames changed to the color of a wine, a deep dark violet. And a slip of parchment flew up out of the flames, and Karkaroff caught it before it fell to the floor. "_Fleur Delacour!_"

The table on the other side of the room immediately began to cheer, as students dressed in blue satin stood to congratulate their fellow student. But Harry noticed that most of them looked highly disappointed and barely clapped. Madame Maxime, as well as the other professors, rose from her seat and applauded her champion. A slender girl with long, silvery blonde hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes moved away from the table to stand by the staff table, her smile wide and infectious. Soon all the boys around her were smiling as well.

Another piece of parchment was spewed from the flames, and Karkaroff bellowed the name, "_Cedric Diggory!_" Harry stood with the other Hogwarts students to congratulate the tall, cheerful-looking young man with a chiseled face and a wide smile. He looked to the staff table to see Dumbledore stand as Diggory walked to join Delacour, getting pats on the back on his way. From the Hogwarts champion table, he heard Montague grunt in anger and slam the table, though the sound was mostly lost to the applauding in the room.

The room saw wine-colored flames once more and Karkaroff grabbed another slip of parchment. The Durmstrang headmaster seemed to be holding his breath. "And the last is…_Viktor Krum!_" Harry was taken aback when the entire room burst into applause – the sound was deafening, and yet he couldn't help but join in as Viktor stood from his table and joined the other two champions near the side of the room. Karkaroff clearly looked pleased.

When the flames changed color again almost no one noticed the room was in such a cheerful uproar. Harry was one of the first to stop clapping, but it was when the Durmstrang headmaster turned toward the Goblet that the others realized something was amiss. A piece of paper flew out from the flames and began its gentle ascend toward the floor. As if too stunned, Karkaroff didn't reach for it in the air, waiting until it had touched the marble flooring to finally pick it up.

The room watched Karkaroff silently, as if everyone was holding their breath. Even Harry was unconsciously preventing himself from breathing. The man glanced down at the paper and whispered something, a name. But no one heard him. His face started to get redder and redder as he looked up and began frantically searching for a face in the room. Then his dark eyes landed on Harry, and that was when he knew.

Karkaroff said louder, "_Harry Potter_."

All the students and teachers turned toward him, at first silently and then gradually the murmuring got louder, an infectious buzzing. Harry wanted to sink into the floor and then into the earth below, never to be heard of again. He wanted to disappear. His legs felt wobbly and unstable, and he wanted to grasp the table behind him, but was too stunned to do anything at all. If he was going to fall, he didn't think he would be able to consciously stop himself, nor did he want to at that point.

As Karkaroff began to grimace in anger, Harry just wanted to know why. Why does this always happen to him?

"What is the meaning of this?" Karkaroff exclaimed turning to Dumbledore. "How could you allow him to put his name in? How could you have two champions?"

Dumbledore stood calmly and walked around the table to meet him. "I have not allowed Harry to put his name into the Goblet." His blue eyes looked at Harry, who knew to go over for a punishment to an offense he hadn't committed. When he had gone over, his headmaster asked calmly, "Harry, did you bypass the Age Line and put your name in?"

"No, Professor." He tried to convey his seriousness in those few words as best he could.

Madame Maxime stood from her seat. " 'Ee iz lying, Dumbledore!"

Karkaroff added angrily, "He obviously managed to get past it, and you said that there is no vay a student could. Perhaps you told him how!"

Dumbledore seemed to understand that students of all three schools were silently watching the disagreement with slight awe, and he tried to tell Karkaroff that perhaps this should be dealt with privately, but the man repeated his sentence, even louder than before. And so Dumbledore said, "I did no such thing, Karkaroff. I would not tell a student of mine to cheat in this tournament."

He turned to Harry and inquired, "Harry, you're telling the truth? You didn't put your name in?"

The fact that Dumbledore was doubtful of his innocence greatly upset him – though he was clearly aware of the invisible wall that had become wedged between them – but he pushed that aside and replied, "I wouldn't even know how to get past it, Professor. And I don't want to be in the tournament."

Before Dumbledore or Karkaroff could answer, Bartemius Crouch stood from his seat. "Mr. Potter _must_ compete – his name was drawn by the Goblet of Fire. He is bound by a magical contract to see the tournament through to the end. He cannot back out now." He looked at Karkaroff and Dumbledore, and then sat back down.

Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore and reproachfully drawled, "You did this on purpose, Dumbledore."

"I swear to you, my friend, I did not. I would not willingly put a student of mine in danger like this."

The Durmstrang headmaster, obviously seeing this couldn't be resolved, shot Harry an accusing stare, and then grunted in anger as he walked back towards the staff table to address the room, as he had been about to before the interruption. With their headmaster now out of the argument, the students began talking quickly to each other, their thoughts on the situation spreading rapidly from mouth to ear. Harry heard snippets like, "the nerve of him," or "how d'you think he got past the line?" or "he'll probably die in the first task anyway, he's so small."

Dumbledore glanced down at Harry through his spectacles. Harry tried to convey through his eyes that he didn't want to be a champion, that he would be perfectly fine watching from the sidelines, and that he wanted his headmaster to resolve this, but Dumbledore merely gave him a sad look. His eyes seemed less reflective at the moment, and he seemed to age a few years in only a few moments.

"You will have to compete, Harry, along with others. It will be dangerous, but I have confidence that you will be able to manage. Do you think you can do this?"

Harry waited a moment, feeling his headmaster's eyes on his face, and then nodded, though he wasn't completely certain he could. Dumbledore nodded as well. Harry took his place beside the other champions, feeling their hesitation to stand next to him, as if he was contagious. He wiped his sweaty hands on his robe, as he glanced at his table where Draco was sitting. But he friend turned away from him. He thought it was odd, but was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to worry about Draco's at the moment.

Face still red, Karkaroff explained that the first task would take place in exactly one month and a day on the 25th of November. "The first task vill test your daring and courage, and you therefore vill be going into the vithout a hint as to what it entails. Good luck."

One by one the students left the large room. Harry watched them all go, but remained in his place as he did. He didn't think he could move his feet even if he tried. He would have to compete in the incredibly dangerous Triwizard Tournament – he might have a leg bitten off or be seriously scarred, as if he wasn't used to already, or even be killed. What if he never saw Sirius again in person? He wasn't much worried about himself as he was about Sirius. He knew Sirius would be horribly devastated he never got to see him again, and he didn't want that to happen. But seeing as he couldn't back out of this, that there was no other alternative, he would just have to be as cautious as possible. He would have to be vigilant, as Moody would say.

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?" a familiar woman's voice asked, and he looked up to see McGonagall staring at him curiously. Behind her were Snape, Moody, and Dumbledore. And further off, near the Goblet, were Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Crouch, and Bagman. The entire room was now empty save for them.

Not trusting his voice any more he just nodded.

"Constant vigilance, Potter, _constant vigilance_," Moody emphasized, as he trudged over, his wooden leg hitting the floor loudly. Snape said nothing, but he didn't seem to be angry or exasperated at all, which was a curious and highly rare occurrence. Harry couldn't place his professor's emotion, but he didn't care to at the moment.

"Harry, why don't you get some rest," McGonagall said.

Harry made his way to the train without meeting another person. He thought he would get into his compartment and just be able to sleep this weirdness off and be refreshed in the morning, but that was not how things went. He should have known his evening wasn't over because nothing ever went as planned.

Draco was standing in their compartment when he entered. He didn't say anything for a moment, so Harry said unemotionally, "Hi." But that seemed to reawaken his friend, who burst out with, "How could you put your name into the Goblet without telling me?! You didn't think I wanted to try it?"

Harry staggered back slightly, stunned that Draco thought he had gone behind his back. "But I didn't put my name in!"

"Don't give me that! I know you only told Dumbledore that so you wouldn't get in trouble. You're good at lying and you know it, and so you used that for your own gain."

"I did _not_ put my name in! Why would I want to place myself in even more danger?"

"Because you like it. You like the fame. You like people staring at you and you like signing autographs and what not," Draco replied. "Just admit it!"

"What? Are you mad? Have you not been paying attention this whole time we've been mates? I hate the attention!"

"You could've fooled me!"

"Draco, you're a real git, you know that?"

"Why don't you piss off, Scarhead!" Draco yelled.

Harry felt his face getting warm. He grabbed his blanket and pillow, pushed past Draco, slamming him in the shoulder as he went, and left. He slammed the compartment door closed and went to the Interchangeable Room, knowing there would be couches to sleep on. He threw off his robes and laid down, pillow under his head and blanket above him. He tried to sleep but was much too peeved, and so he just stared at the ceiling for most of the night, until he drifted off without knowing.

* * *

It was official. Harry would be competing. There was no way around it. He found out after he was awoken the next day by Adrian Pucey flicking a feather under his nose. He had shoved Pucey away from him, but the boy had merely laughed as he walked away. The newspapers were printed with "A FIRST, FOUR TRIWIZARD CHAMPIONS" in Bulgarian. Now the whole world would be buzzing with the news. And it was more than obvious that other Hogwarts students thought he had cheated to get his name in. They kept glancing at him, maybe hoping he would suddenly blurt out that he had indeed placed his name in the Goblet. But of course he didn't, and he never would.

He didn't have much to eat during breakfast. He wasn't very hungry and he hadn't planned on going, but he had felt obliged to as a champion. With no class until the following day, Harry went back to an empty room to grab his Two-Way Mirror and his box of parchment, his ink, and quill. The Interchangeable Room was filled with mostly unoccupied tables.

He took out a piece of parchment and began to write.

_Blaise,_

_This tournament is certainly going to be exciting, a real first if you haven't already heard. My name came out of the Goblet of Fire – a large goblet with amazing blue flames – and I didn't even put my name in, and now I have to compete. You probably won't believe me that I didn't do it since Draco doesn't, but it doesn't matter anyway. There's no way around it. The rules say that when a name is drawn the person must go through with the tournament to the end. I know you'll be excited that I'm competing, and probably jealous, but I would trade places with you if I could. It's going to be dangerous, so wish me luck!_

_Harry._

He folded the letter in half and then again, and as he did he heard awkward footsteps, a light thump and a hard one, and he looked up to see Moody coming toward him. His magical blue eyes was whizzing around the now empty room. The few other students must have left while he was writing.

Moody came over, but didn't sit. "I told Karkaroff that you couldn't possibly have put your own name in the Goblet, that it was certainly the work of someone way beyond the talents of a fourth year. That shut him up, though Dumbledore didn't mention that you have the talents beyond a fourth year yourself. I don't think he'll be bothering you or Dumbledore about it again. At least not for some time."

"Err…thanks."

"Just a bit of advice. A reporter will be arriving within the week to interview all the champions, her name is Rita Skeeter and she's willing to do anything to get the story she wants."

"Yeah, I've heard of her."

"Good. You'll be better prepared," Moody stated, before walking away. He closed the door only halfway, and Harry heard his clunky footsteps as he went further down the corridor.

Making sure no one else was in the room, Harry took his Two-Way Mirror from his pocket. "Sirius." His face came into view, eyes weary and mouth yawning. "Oh, did I wake you? What time is it in England?"

"Don't worry about it. It's only morning, but there's not much to do but sleep when you're in a cell all day," Sirius said in reply. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "So any interesting things happen so far? It's been—what, two days? Someone should have died by now, eh?"

Harry chuckled, but it was done only half-heartedly. "No, no one's died yet. But all the students put their names in the night we arrived, and yesterday the Goblet of Fire selected the champions."

"Anyone interesting?"

Harry wanted so badly to tell Sirius that he had been chosen to participate in the tournament as a fourth champion, but he simply couldn't. He didn't want Sirius to worry about him, as he knew he would with nothing to do all day in Azkaban. He also didn't want to see Sirius' face if he didn't believe him – if he thought Harry might have put his name in. That would be so upsetting, and he wasn't sure he could handle both his godfather and his best friend not believing him.

"Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts, Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, and Viktor Krum for Durmstrang."

"Isn't Krum a famous Quidditch player?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Heard some of the other inmates talking about it a few times. He must be young then."

"He's seventeen. Pretty nice bloke, too."

"You better not be rooting for another school, Harry," Sirius teased. "I'd have to disown you."

"Never in a million years."

"That's good."

"Did I ever get around to telling you about the new Dark Arts professor?" Harry asked.

"No, who is it?"

"Alastor Mad-Eye Moody."

"Really? Ha-ha! Mad-Eye's certainly an interesting character. I've known him for quite some time, but I wouldn't mention that you talk to me however; I doubt he'd approve of you speaking with a convict," Sirius explained. "But he's a good person to be around when times are troubling. His whole 'constant vigilance' thing can really get to you, too."

"The first time I heard him say it was during my first class with him, and he certainly made a unique first impression," Harry explained. "He showed us the three Unforgivable Curses by using them on spiders. It…wasn't very pleasant, and it upset a bunch of students."

"I bet it did. But I don't think he cares too much about that. He wants everyone to be aware of the dark arts and how unforgiving the people who wield it can be."

"Well, I'm one person he doesn't have to explain that to, I already know."

"You can never know too much about defending yourself against the dark arts, Harry."

"I guess you're right, Sirius," Harry stated. "Anyway, the first task is on November 25th, and it's going to test the champions daring. I wonder what it'll—"

Harry looked up from his mirror when he heard a set of footsteps outside in the corridor. He stood up and slowly went over to the door, the mirror still in his hands, but by the time he peered out into the hall all he heard was compartment door close, and wasn't sure which one it had been.

This wasn't good. Someone knew he was talking to Sirius Black, a prisoner in Azkaban. If the wrong person had heard him, they might tell the Minister and Sirius would have the mirror taken away from him. He would have to go back to letters, which wasn't the end of the world, but then he might never see Sirius' face again. He'd have to be more careful about where he talked to his godfather.

"Harry, what happened?" Sirius inquired.

"Someone was at the door."

"Did they hear you?"

Harry hesitated at first, and then said, "I think so."

"You'll have to be wary of when and where you talk to me from now on."

"I will."

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Preview of Chapter 12—To Believe Or Not To Believe:

Harry attends a few classes, goes to the Weighing of the Wands, has an interview with Rita Skeeter, and intentionally reads one of Draco's letters…


	12. To Believe Or Not To Believe

It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

-William Blake

**12**

**To Believe Or Not To Believe**

"Good morning, class," Professor McGonagall said to the fourth and fifth years sitting in an extra classroom in the Durmstrang castle. Harry, sitting at a single person desk, was near the back, not wanting anymore stares coming his way from his fellow Hogwarts students. Draco, he saw, was sitting on the opposite side of the room.

Sleeping in the same, incredibly small room was awkward and uncomfortable, and he wanted things to get better between them, he wanted to forget about this, but he wasn't going to talk to Draco, he wanted Draco to come to him with an apology. Harry had done nothing wrong and would therefore not say sorry.

"This is going to be difficult," explained McGonagall, "because half of you have learned more than the others here, but I'm going to divide the time we have teaching the fourth years spells that are new for them, and spells that will be new for both years. If the younger ones can't grasp the spells intended for the fifth years, I promise, you won't be marked down for it. However, not only will I be teaching you Transfiguration, but I will do my best to teach you Charms as well."

McGonagall stood at the front of the small classroom. There were a few windows, but they were small and didn't let in much light. There were a desk behind her, but there was nothing of sentiment on it like there was in her classroom at Hogwarts. There was only a fabric-covered box. She added, "I thought we'd start out with something easy – a spell you've already learned. But you'll be performing spell with a slight difference than how it was done previously.

"The spell is Fera Verto…yes, yes, I know, the spell you did in your second year turning a bird into a goblet, but I assure you this will be much more complex," McGonagall said, as she went toward the desk and uncovered the box. There were twelve little, white mice with pink noses and tails. "You will each get a mouse, and with that spell you will transfigure the mouse into another animal of your choosing, but it must be an animal of similar or larger size. Okay, now come up and get a mouse."

Harry gradually got up from his seat, like the others, and made his way over. McGonagall placed an albino mouse in his hands. It was tiny and furry; it sniffed his fingers, and its feet tickled the palms of his hands. He knew Hedwig would be jealous if she saw him holding the little mouse.

Wand in hand, he placed the mouse on his desk, and was glad that it didn't scurry over to the edge of the table like some of the others did. Harry didn't know what to change the mouse into – a bird, a fish, a squirrel? Then he thought of doing something more extravagant. If he could perform a Patronus surely he could transfigure a mouse into another animal. Suddenly, the idea of an eagle came to him, but was that _too_ extravagant?

"When you've thought of your animal, feel free to begin," McGonagall stated.

Thinking of the mouse as an eagle, Harry flicked his wand at the mouse and exclaimed, "_Fera Verto!_" The mouse's fur changed to a tawny color, exactly as he had pictured the eagle in his head.

McGonagall came to stand beside him. "Mr. Potter, you're clearly thinking too much about the mouse as another animal, and not enough of the animal you're going to change it into. This isn't a mouse, it's a…"

"An eagle."

"All right, an eagle. Think only of the eagle; see it clearly in your mind," she said. "And you must flick your wrist more when you say the spell."

Harry tried two more times, feeling McGonagall's gaze as she stood beside him. On the second try, after brandishing his wand, his little mouse was transformed into a magnificent eagle. He smiled widely, and turned toward McGonagall, who gave a little bow of her head in acknowledgment. He saw a small smile play on her lips, and was satisfied. As he watched her walk away to help Weasley, who was clearly struggling, he wondered whether she believed him or not, whether she thought he had put his own name in the Goblet, or whether she believed a more experienced wizard had. He couldn't be sure, but he hoped the smile was a sign she was on his side.

The fourth and fifth years next class was Potions. And though it was their first class with him at Durmstrang, Professor Snape felt there was no need to give them a simpler potion. As usual they were given a potion that took all the class time, and as usual Snape scowled at his work, which was clearly much better than most of the people in the class, even some fifth years.

"This is incorrect, Potter, you were supposed to put the root in before the frog's legs. Do you see what color this is?"

"Yes, it's green, just like you said."

"It's dark green when I said it should be _lime_ green. Pay attention and do your work properly."

Harry grumbled in response as Snape walked away to congratulate Draco on a job well done. Draco turned to him and smirked, clearly liking the attention. Harry looked back to his potion, which he knew he could fix after it boiled for a few minutes.

Even in another country and another castle, Potions class was still unpleasant.

* * *

The next day, after an interesting class with Professor Moody, who was taught them about the many uses of a foe-glass and the many places they could be hidden to a witch or wizard's advantage, Harry was informed that he had to go to the Weighing of the Wands. Although there was a wand maker near Bulgaria, he was off traveling to find the perfect wood for his next batches of wands, and so the job was given to Mr. Ollivander.

Harry, his wand in his thick Hogwarts robe, followed Dumbledore and the tall, good-looking boy named Cedric Diggory into the Dining Hall. There was a small group of people standing in front of the Staff Table. Of the people he already knew was an addition: Mr. Ollivander, white hair wild, skin wrinkled, and intense blue eyes, was standing off to the side. He had a slight smile on his face, as if he was amused by watching the others around him.

Next to Mr. Bartemius Crouch and Mr. Ludo Bagman was a woman Harry had heard about and had almost had a run-in with last year at Snape's. It was clear who she was without an introduction. Rita Skeeter's slight figure was dressed head to toe in forest green – her top, her skirt, her heels, and even her crocodile purse – and he saw hung over the arm of the bald photographer next to her was her green cloak. She had curly light blonde and atop her nose were cat-eye glasses with sparkly gems in the frames.

When they had reached the others, Crouch introduced them all to Ollivander and Skeeter. No one looked pleased to see Skeeter standing among them, however. After a few minutes of conversation, while Harry tried his best not to be anywhere near Skeeter, Ollivander gathered the four champions together for the Weighing of the Wands.

"Who would like to go first?" Ollivander asked. "Mr. Krum?"

Krum stepped forward to hand Ollivander his wand. Ollivander inspected it intently, and said, "Gregorovitch creation, I believe. Hornbeam and dragon heartstring…quite thicker than I would have done…ten and a quarter inches…_Avis!_" A blast like that of a gun went off, startling some in the room, and creating a number of small birds, which flew around the rafters.

"Very good," Mr. Ollivander expressed. "Mademoiselle Delacour?" Fleur Delacour glided over to him, as if she were walking on water instead of granite like everyone else, and handed him her wand. Ollivander twirled it around his fingers. "Rosewood…nine and a half inches…and—"

"One 'hair from ze head of a veela," Fleur explained. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

Fleur Delacour was part veela. Harry would have to tell Draco, he would be interested to know something like that…and then he remembered the fight and that they weren't on speaking terms. Well, maybe he would tell Blaise instead.

"A fine wand…_Orchideous!_" A bouquet of colorful flowers burst from her wand, which Ollivander caught in his other hand, handing them both to Fleur, before saying, "Mr. Diggory, if you would be so kind…Ah, one of mine…one hair from a male unicorn…ash…twelve and a quarter inches. A very fine wand if I say so myself…_Venta!_" A strong gust of wind burst forth from Diggory's wand; Harry felt his hair flounce up slightly against the breeze.

"And, lastly, Mr. Potter." Harry stepped forward, pulling his wand from the pocket of his robes and handed them to Ollivander, whose blue eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Ah, yes, I remember this well quite well, quite well indeed." And though he didn't say it, Harry remembered the first time he had seen his wand, and when it had picked him. He remembered going through most in the store until this was one of the last, and he couldn't help thinking it was somehow worth it because was the perfect wand for him. Perhaps a little too perfect, considering.

"Made of holly…eleven inches long…a single feather from the tail of a phoenix," said Ollivander. And Harry knew that tail feather was similar to one Voldemort had in his wand. "Remarkable."

Eventually, after examining Harry's wand longer than everyone else's, he shot wine out of his wand and handed it back. Rita Skeeter wasted no time, immediately walking forward saying that she needed to do some quick interviews and have photographs taken. Harry noticed her walking toward him, and tried to inch away, but she grabbed his arm and declared, "I think I'll interview Mr. Potter first in the side room of the Dining Hall, if there are no objections." All of the professors vehemently shook their hands, clearly wanting her out of the room. But that meant he had to go with her.

The side room smelled of dust, had a stack of extra chairs along the side, and a high window to let in a sparing amount of light. Skeeter took down two chairs, placing them opposite each other, and told him to make himself comfortable as she seated herself and crossed one leg over the other. As he sat down he watched her open her crocodile purse and take out a long roll of parchment, which she stretched out on one of her thighs. She then took out a green quill and placed it on the parchment, where it balanced on its own.

It was perfectly still until she began to speak. "Testing…Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet_ here." Suddenly the quill began to quiver, as if an invisible hand had gripped it and was writing. Harry leaned forward to look at the parchment. The words Skeeter had spoken were not what the quill wrote, but while he thought it was a malfunction, she seemed infinitely pleased.

_A reporter for the _Daily Prophet,_ Rita Skeeter is blonde, gorgeous, and highly intelligent._

"Now then…Harry, what made you want to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I didn't want to enter the Tournament. I didn't put my name in."

"Harry, there's no one here but us. You don't have to worry about getting in trouble."

"I'm not worried about getting in trouble because I didn't put my name in. But anything I do tell you will be published in the newspaper. That quill is writing everything down." He glanced at it: _Harry Potter, scarred from a tragic past, refuses to disclose his reasoning for entering the Triwizard Tournament, though it is his very own past that might have pushed him to do it._

"What? It wasn't my past that made me do it—"

"Then what was it, Harry? A girl? Did you want to show off for a girl? A boy then? We here at the _Daily Prophet_ don't discriminate."

"No, neither! I didn't put my name in at all!"

"Moving on…How do you feel about the fast approaching tasks? Are you nervous? Or are you excited?"

"Oh, erm…I guess nervous."

"Any bets on which of the four you believe might not make it this year? Some have died in the past, you know."

Startled she could ask such a question, he muttered, "I think it's going to be safer this year." The quill wiggled on the parchment and he saw: _Potter, a brave exterior, is quite scared of the upcoming tasks, saying that he fears one of the champions may not make it._ "I didn't say that!"

"Don't mind the quill, Harry," Skeeter said, leaning forward slightly. "What about your parents, Harry? Do you think they would be proud to know you entered the Tournament or scared for you?"

"I didn't enter the Tournament…and I don't know."

"Can you remember them?"

"No." Rita Skeeter was staring to intently at him that he looked down at the parchment said saw: _The thoughtful reporter, Rita Skeeter, hands Potter a handkerchief, tears appear in his bright green eyes, as he remembers his dear parents._

"I'm not crying!" Harry exclaimed. He stood up. "I think we're done here."

"Please tell Mademoiselle Delacour I would like to ask her a few questions."

Harry left the room, leaving Rita Skeeter with her deceitful words, and found the photographer taking pictures of the other champions. He quietly walked up to Fleur and told her to go see Skeeter. She noticeably grimaced in distaste. Harry joined those being photographed. The man placed him in the center of Krum and Diggory. For the better part of an hour, Skeeter asked each of the champions questions, while the others were nearly blinded by the constant flash of the camera.

"All right, I believe we're done here," the photographer finally said.

Harry blinked numerous times and rubbed his eyes until he could see the room clearly again. Dumbledore motioned for him and Diggory to follow, and together they left the castle and walked towards the Hogwarts Express.

"I hope Rita Skeeter was not too bothersome to either of you," Dumbledore stated, his beard flying lightly over his shoulder from the wind. He glanced at both students over his half-moon spectacles. "She likes to take things into her own hands and she likes the truth, but her idea of the truth is always a bit…skewed."

"No, she wasn't too bothersome, Professor," Cedric Diggory replied. "She actually didn't ask me too many questions. I suppose she doesn't know much about me."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Dumbledore said.

"You're lucky she didn't ask you a lot of questions. She wouldn't stop badgering me," Harry interjected. "I had to get up and leave for her to stop." He didn't want to say it out loud, but he really hoped Skeeter wouldn't put what was written down by her quill in the newspaper. It wasn't at all true. But he knew it was Rita Skeeter they were talking about.

"Sorry she was so harsh on you," Diggory said, looking at Harry under wavy light brown hair.

"Thanks," Harry replied. Diggory _was_ a nice guy. He had heard about him from some of the Slytherin girls, and from rumors that had circulated about him being a decent Quidditch player. Well, he would just have to see about that later.

Once inside the train, Harry went back to his compartment to find Draco sitting on his bed reading a letter. He tried not to look at the person that may or may not be his friend anymore, took off his thick cloak, and found Hedwig sleeping on his bed. Without waking her he took the letter from her leg and placed her inside her cage, and then sat down at the edge of his bed.

_Hey Harry,_

_Wow, that's brilliant! I never imagined you would be chosen as a champion! Now I really wish I was there with you and Draco. It would be so exciting. If you say you didn't put your name in then I believe you. You don't make things up like some people would (cough, cough, Draco, cough). Besides, as much as I would want to be in the Tournament, I know that you wouldn't want to be. It may seem like I don't pay attention, but I do. Just tell Draco to shove it! Hahaha! Anyway, good luck! I hope you still have all your limbs when the Tournament is over!_

_Your friend,_

_Blaise._

Harry couldn't help but laugh at Blaise's letter, and he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Draco glance up at him. He reached for a spare piece of parchment and a quill.

_Blaise,_

_I better have all my limbs by the time I finish this, or I'll be really pissed off! I especially need my arms for Quidditch and for holding my wand, of course, to jinx you or Draco when you guys say something stupid! Hope all is well at Hogwarts._

_Your friend,_

_Harry._

He tucked the letter in Hedwig's cage, deciding to send it once she woke up. As Harry lay back on his bed, hearing the turning of pages from Draco, he wondered about the first task. He remembered Crouch say that it would test the champions' daring. But what exactly did that mean? How would they test a champion's bravery in the face of danger and with the prospect of death? He was certain he didn't want to find out. But he knew that come November 25th he would.

After nearly a half-hour of laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering about the first task, he heard Draco get up and leave, probably to get dinner or talk to Pucey and Higgs. Draco could do whatever he wanted. He could go to dinner without him, or play Chess with someone else. Harry didn't care.

But after only a few minutes, he got up, feeling his stomach growling and wanting to know where Draco had gone. He looked at Draco's unkempt bed and saw the corner of a letter sticking out from beneath his pillow. He knew he shouldn't, that the words weren't meant for his eyes, that he was ruining the trust Draco had bestowed to him, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to see who it was from, whether it had been written by Mr. Malfoy or Pansy Parkinson.

Harry pulled the letter out and opened it slowly, as if the crinkle of parchment would somehow alert Draco and he would rush in. He saw extravagant-looking handwriting and knew it was Mr. Malfoy's.

_Draco,_

_It interests me greatly to know that Harry has been chosen as a champion, and as much as you believe he entered the Triwizard Tournament himself, I cannot help thinking he couldn't have managed to overpower a spell Dumbledore conjured, no matter how good he is in school. As much as I dislike the man, Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard known to the Wizarding community, second only to the Dark Lord. There is no way Harry got past the Age Line on his own. But he may have gotten help, who from I don't know. I certainly didn't help him if that's what you were implying, though I would've helped you, Draco, if you had insisted._

_As to who helped him, it could have been any number of people at Durmstrang: possibly Dumbledore, though I don't believe he would purposely put Harry at risk; Snape is also a possibility, but then he probably would have spoken to you as well; or it could have been Mad-Eye Moody, who never had any regard for the rules, unless they were the ones he made himself. But I don't see him placing a student in danger deliberately since, as you say, his trademark motto is "constant vigilance." In that case, I am at a loss for who would help Harry enter the Tournament._

_However, I have to consider what you said about Harry claiming he didn't do it at all, and it's a great possibility from what I've stated above. And besides, you two are great friends, aren't you? Do you think Harry would go behind your back about something as great as this? I don't think so. He's most likely innocent of what you've accused him of, but it's up to you now to fix this._

_Your father._

It was a slight comfort to Harry knowing that Mr. Malfoy didn't think he had entered his own name into the Goblet of Fire, though the fact that he thought him incapable of doing so hurt his pride somewhat, but at least someone believed him. It was true that no one could get past Dumbledore's Age Line, so there was no way he himself could have walked up to the Goblet, but Mr. Malfoy indicated that someone may have helped him, and though no one had, it was an interesting idea. Clearly someone had put his name in if he hadn't, but he hadn't given it much thought. But now he wondered: Who had?

There was no way Dumbledore would put his name in. His headmaster would never let him do something as dangerous as this. And although Snape was his Head of House, they were not buddy-buddy, not by any means, so it seemed unlikely that Snape would put his name in unless he was doing it to kill him off. The only likely reason he could think of. But he doubted even Snape would do something as drastic as that.

Mad-Eye Moody was a slight mystery to him. Although Harry would like to dismiss the man, he was strange and clearly somewhat off his trolley. However, he didn't think an ex-auror would put the name of a student in the Goblet of Fire, forcing that person to compete in an unsafe tournament. What could he have to gain from it anyway? Absolutely nothing from what Harry could gather.

Obviously the other headmasters wouldn't put his name in just for kicks, especially from how they reacted the other day. McGonagall, Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Bagman would never break such rules and regulations. He could think of no person that would enter his name. This person had not simply disappeared out of nowhere, so he would try to figure out who it was.

Something else was now nagging at the back of his mind. Mr. Malfoy's evidence was thorough and reasonable, so he wondered why Draco hadn't come to talk to him already. Unless Draco still didn't believe what his father or he had said. If that was true then Draco was being more of an idiot than he had originally thought. And so he would stick to what he had said before: He wasn't going to talk to Draco; he would wait until Draco had come around. And if he didn't, then good riddance.

Harry refolded the letter and placed it back under the pillow, letting the corner stick out as it had been before. He then grabbed his thick cloak and went for a long walk. He didn't come back until it was dark outside and his nose and ears felt numb.

**A/N: **Hey, guys! I hope you've all been enjoying the story thus far. I'm interested to know whether you think the pace of the story is too fast, too slow, or just right. As of right now, I'm writing chapter 15, and will hopefully be writing the First Task in chapter 16, so its not too far now! Hopefully, you'll like what I've come up with! Have a good weekend!

* * *

**Preview of Chapter 13—Vendetta:**

The other Hogwarts students turn against Harry; Rita Skeeter is adamant about an interview, and Sirius yells at him when he finds out Harry is a fourth champion…


	13. Vendetta

"Revenge converts a little right into a great wrong."

-German proverb

**13**

**Vendetta**

The air outside was brisk. Harry could feel his nose and ears growing numb, growing red from the cold, and yet he didn't want to go back inside just yet. Words and phrases from Draco's letter kept coming back to him. It was almost as if they were mocking him because he couldn't forget.

Yes, Mr. Malfoy was on his side, but Draco wasn't. And it didn't matter that only a few people believed him because no one else did, and the person who had put his name in the Goblet was out there somewhere. What he didn't understand was why the person had entered his name. What good would it do? What would it accomplish?

The only problem was Harry didn't care at the moment. He only cared about why Draco wouldn't believe him. But as he racked his brain, searching for a sufficient reason, he could find none.

He went inside went almost every part of himself felt numb – his ears, his toes, his fingertips, and his lungs. Draco was already asleep when he went inside the compartment. His light snores were the only sound in the small room. Harry couldn't fall sleep, so he lay on his stomach on his bed, staring at the starry sky and waiting for dawn.

* * *

The following week was no different than the last: students from all three schools still whispered behind his back, sneering at him and making jokes as he passed in English, French, and Bulgarian. But no matter what language, he could tell when he was being laughed at and ridiculed.

As Harry walked into the Interchangeable Room, looking for an empty seat in the overly-crowded room to read his Dark Arts textbook, he felt more than saw Cormac McLaggen's gaze turn toward him. Then he heard the boy call out, "Oh, look there goes, Harry Potter, the cheat!" McLaggen laughed derisively. The others sitting around him joined in immediately. He saw Roger Davies, Stebbins, Vicky Frobisher, and Terry Boot all cackle unpleasantly in amusement. And not soon afterwards others were joining in – the Weasley twins, Diggory, Alicia Spinnet, and Ron Weasley.

The ones not laughing looked displeased, but whether it was from the remark or from Harry himself he didn't know. Angela Johnson's jaws looked clenched, Cho Chang stared at the floor, an undecipherable look on her face, and Susan Bones' eyes seemed to be frowning at what was going on around her. And then Harry's gaze fell on Draco, and he saw that Draco wasn't looking away or clenching a fist, he was laughing. The person he thought was a friend was actually laughing at him.

_Backstabbing git,_ Harry thought, his right hand clenching.

As he turned away, feeling his anger rising up inside him like burning vomit, he heard the others laugh harder, as if his decision not to lash back was a forfeit. But to Harry it didn't feel like a forfeit. He didn't want to shout and yell and make a fool of himself in front of everyone, because he knew that if he stayed he _would_. Not at McLaggen, but at Draco, and he didn't want to have an argument for everyone to witness and criticize, and afterwards make fun of.

His feet hit the ground as loud thuds, but he didn't seem to feel it, he only heard it, as if he somehow outside his own body. The only way he knew he was still within his own skin, that he hadn't been left inside the Interchangeable Room as an empty, invisible being, was because his vision was fixed on the opposite end of the corridor. He ran into his compartment and slammed the door shut.

Even halfway down the hall, their laughter echoed down between the walls. He threw down his book, kicked his trunk, immediately regretting it after, and then sat down at the edge of bed, palms over his ears as he closed his eyes. His first thought was of Hogwarts. He imagined seeing it in his mind – the looming castle with its endless amount of windows, the Great Hall that mirrored the sky outside, the emerald Slytherin common room, Hagrid's warm, comfy cabin, the grassy grounds that he flew around on his broom. The air in his face and in his hair as he soared, light as a feather, almost as fast as sound itself, the wind rushing past him, with hardly a care in the world—

Someone knocked on the door. Even with his hands held tightly over his ears there was no mistaking the sound, and his hands were that great against sound anyway.

"_What the hell do you want?_" he asked, resentment practically dripping from his mouth.

"It's Mad-Eye. You want to tell me what just happened?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to recount anything, even his professor already knew, or at least inferred; he just wanted to sit there. But he got up and opened the door anyway. Moody, hair frumpy, nose a mess, and blue eye focused on him, was standing in the hall. It was at that moment that Harry realized his professor had probably witnessed the whole thing with his magical eye. His eye could see through walls.

Harry moved aside to let him enter, but Mad-Eye made no move to walk inside. Both eyes looked around the room for a moment before focusing again on Harry. For a moment there was a silence as Harry stared at the floor between them.

"Remember: constant vigilance, Harry," Mad-Eye stated.

"No offense, Professor…but while constant vigilance may help against dark wizards, it won't help against cruel teenagers."

"It can help with anyone, Harry. Dark wizards and cruel teenagers, alike, have an agenda, however different that agenda is. You just have to be ready for it." Moody's normal eye glanced down the corridor for a moment. "McLaggen immediately looked at you when you entered the room and didn't take his gaze off of you. His eyes narrowed slightly, his fists tightened, all without his even noticing. His mouth opened a little bit because he knew he was going to say something before he went through with the action. Clear, noticeable clues right there. You simply have to be aware of them. Be indicative. _Be vigilant_."

Moody turned around, his weight shifting to lean on his staff, and then trudged down the hall, his rhythmic steps echoing down the hallway. Harry remained in the doorway. He didn't know whether he should be taken aback over the fact that Moody had been watching him, as if he knew something was going to happen, or grateful for the strange guidance.

Laying down on his bed, Harry realized that if he was going to be in the Triwizard Tournament he would have to pay careful attention to people's usually-insignificant acts, like hand clenching, to be able to decipher moods and forthcoming actions. Because they may play a crucial role in the outcome of his own well-being, especially in this dangerous game.

* * *

Although the Dining Hall was nearly full, a buzzing of conversation in numerous languages spreading throughout the room like rough winds, Harry was sitting alone at a circular table, the two seats on either side vacant. He pushed around the carrots on his plate with his fork, hardly able to each much in the past few days since the occurrence in the Interchangeable Room.

After sitting there for only fifteen minutes, he stood up and left the room, but no matter where he went he couldn't seem to be left alone because he nearly bumped into Rita Skeeter. She looked down at him through her cat-eye glasses and a small smile appeared on her face. Today she was wearing an indigo dress with indigo heels and an indigo purse.

"Harry, a pleasure to see you again," she said.

"Yes, I'm sure it is…for you."

"Oh, don't be that way. Interviews are done for the readers, you know, and I have to get the best story."

"And what about the person you're interviewing? Shouldn't they have a say?"

"Harry, getting the best story is simply good journalism," Skeeter stated, as if she had said it many times before. "Besides, what do you care if there's a slight fib here and there for the benefit of the readers if it's in your favor? It's for them to get more invested in you and the other champions."

Harry wanted to laugh. "Those articles aren't always in the favor of the interviewee, and you know that. You just want to see more newspapers."

Skeeter paused for a moment, unsure of what to say, but then she shrugged. "Very true, and who can sell more newspapers than Harry Potter? So what do you say to another interview? I promise I won't add any tears this time."

"I'm not in the mood to be harassed," Harry murmured, walking away. He left Rita Skeeter in the entrance hall and went up the stairs to the first floor. He still compared it to Hogwarts – how much draftier and dimmer the corridors were than to his beloved home. He wished he was still at Hogwarts, he wished he had never come to Durmstrang. None of this would have happened: he would still be friends with Draco, the other Hogwarts students wouldn't hate him, he wouldn't have to keep a secret from Sirius, and he wouldn't be entered in the perilous Triwizard Tournament.

He wasn't sure how long he walked around the meandering corridors of the first and second floors, but when he walked down past the Dining Hall on his way to the train, it was as if no time had passed at all because standing off to the side of the room was Rita Skeeter with her photographer friend. She immediately turned to look at him and her smile grew once again, as she rushed over. Her heels clacked irritatingly against the marble floor. He suddenly wished he had his Invisibility Cloak or had the power to sink into the floor, but since neither was an option, nor was running, he waited for whatever it is she was about to say.

"What do you say to one fifteen-minute interview, Harry?" Skeeter asked. "Something quick for the newspapers to grab the attention of all the readers focused on the Triwizard Tournament? We want them to get to know you, Harry."

He wanted to object and go back to his room since he had homework to finish, but he knew that no matter what he did, she would come back and ask him again and again until he said yes. So he decided to get it over with and do it now.

"Fine. I'll do it. But no questions about my parents."

"I believe I can work around that." She adjusted her glasses slightly and added, "Come, there's an empty classroom on this floor that would do just fine." Harry followed the purple-attired woman into a dimly-lit classroom that smelled oddly of grass and eggs. Skeeter pulled out a seat for herself and sat down, taking out her parchment and the quill that stood on its own. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"I'd rather stand."

Skeeter merely shrugged. "Suit yourself." She sucked the tip of the quill before placing it atop the parchment, where it stayed, free of assistance. "Now, has your anxiety about competing in the tournament changed since I last asked you?"

"No, not really. I don't know what I'm going up against, so I'm still pretty wary of what's going to happen," Harry said, leaning slightly against a single-person desk, his arms folded over his chest. The quill began scribbling as he wrote, and somehow he started to grow even more worried about what it was writing down.

"Any ideas about what the first task will entail come the 25th of November?"

"Err…I really have no clue. I suppose it could be anything, really."

"Any ideas about why the other students have been so distant towards you lately?"

Harry shifted the foot he was leaning on, going from his left to right. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he tightened his folded arms, as if that somehow would guard him against the question. "They…they think I entered the tournament on my own, and I didn't do it, I would never do it, but they don't believe me, none of them do, not even…"

"Not even what?"

"Nevermind. They just won't talk to me because they think I broke the rules. That's why I have no friends at the moment to help me get prepared for the first task." Harry leaned forward to look at what the quill was scribbling: _Friendless and alone, Harry Potter overcomes his unease for the upcoming first task with his unremitting motivation._ To his slight horror, he liked what had been written, dare say he even approved. But he didn't say anything to Rita Skeeter; he didn't want her to think she had an upper hand in the situation.

"Have any of the professors been treating you differently since you were called as a fourth candidate?"

"Not really."

"Do you think this discrepancy between you and nearly the entire student body will eventually blow over?"

"Unless they suddenly start believing that I didn't enter my own name, that it must have been someone else, I don't see how it could be resolved."

"You think someone else entered your name in the Goblet of Fire? Who do you think it is and why do you think they did such a thing?"

"If I knew who it was then the entire school wouldn't blame me for something I didn't do, don't you think?" Harry asked, slightly irritated. He couldn't help looking at the parchment. _It would be quite difficult for a boy of only thirteen to be the victim of a miscommunication and a possible framing that results in the converging animosity of students from three separate schools, and yet that it is exactly what Potter is up against_. _The boy, face red and hands clenched, recalls that the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang and even from his own school, Hogwarts, have been distant towards him lately, saying that they have been assessing his honesty over whether it was he who placed his name in the Goblet of Fire or if it was an unknown individual. The outrage was a result of his being chosen as a fourth champion, and so far all fingers remain pointed at young Harry Potter_.

Oddly enough, Harry wasn't opposed to what the quill was writing since it painted everyone else in a bad light, instead of him. Though he knew that no matter which way the angle of the article went it was done to sell newspapers, and this time it happened to be in his favor. But he knew that next time it might be not be so. For some reason he wondered whether the quill really had a mind of its own, or if it was somehow influenced by Skeeter. But he had no idea.

"I'm actually fourteen—"

"Do you have any inkling as to who could have done it, if it wasn't you?"

"I guess it could have been any number of people."

"So it was someone who has a vendetta against you?"

"No. No one here wants revenge against me."

"Not that you know of anyway."

Harry was struck by the idea. It seemed so reasonable that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier. Of course the person would feel some sort of animosity against him – the person had intentionally made him a contender for a dangerous game. Maybe the person was hoping he would die in one of the tasks and be done with him.

All Harry could say in reply to Skeeter was, "Yeah."

* * *

After finishing the interview with Rita Skeeter, Harry left the room alone, assuming Skeeter wanted to look over the notes her quill wrote, and found that there was a small gathering of people standing to the left of the Dining Hall doors. He stood near the back of the group. A roll of parchment was pined to the wall, but he was too far to see what was written. Pushing through some students, he hoped it wasn't in Bulgarian, but luckily there was a English translation beneath the Bulgarian version.

**DUELING COMPETITION**

The annual Dueling Competition starts this Friday, the 18th of

November in the Dining Hall. Be prepared to battle your fellow students

for a chance to win one-hundred Galleons! There are only thirty-two spots

available. Students from all three schools are eligible, except Durmstrang

first years. If you desire a spot in the competition write your name

on the sheet below. Remember first come, first serve!

A Dueling Competition – it was a tempting idea. Harry remembered in second year when there was a Dueling Club, and although it hadn't gone exactly as he would have liked, for the most part he had rather enjoyed it. The idea of practicing spells by fighting other students was a challenge he would relish, but he wondered whether he should sign up for this competition when he was already in the Triwizard Tournament. Would it be too much for him, or would he be able to handle the pressure?

Well, it wasn't like they were real fights, and he was positive it would come in handy knowing how to duel. He pushed forward more until he was standing in front of the parchment between the other students. There were only a five blank spaces left. A blue quill was floating in front of the parchment.

A muscular, well-built young man came forward through the crowd, from which emanated numerous yelps of pain as people were pushed aside. Montague pushed Harry away from him and grabbed the quill. His fingers were so large and stubby that they looked as if they might crush the blue feather. He wrote his name down and the word "Montague" glowed blue for a moment, before being set in black. Obviously Durmstrang must have had problems before with names being erased or changed to warrant the use of such an item.

Now there were only four spaces left. When Montague left go of the quill, it hovered in the air, seeming to wait for him. Harry grasped it and wrote his name, watching the words glow momentarily and liking the effect. He then released the quill to let the others fight over the remaining spots, and walked back to the Hogwarts train.

As usual, Draco wasn't in their compartment. Harry saw he had been spending a lot of time lately with Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs. But did he care? Draco could hang out with whomever he chose. Maybe it was better this way. The less they saw each other, the easier it would be to refrain from getting into a fight, and the easier it would be to get over their friendship.

He took off his thick robe with the Hogwarts crest and hung it on a hook near the compartment door that he had recently discovered. Just as he was about to sit down and open his Dark Arts textbook to read a chapter they weren't up to yet in class, he heard a mumbling. He dropped the book on his bed slowly and stood up, back straight and eyes wide. He heard it again and realized the mumbling was coming from his own trunk. It was Sirius.

The Two-Way mirror was under a pair of trousers and some socks that had once been white. He brought the small mirror with him to his bed and sat down. But he had learned his lesson, so he took out of his wand, pointing it at the compartment door and said, "_Silencio!_"

"Harry, you better be there!" Sirius exclaimed, sounding agitated.

Curious, he looked into the mirror to see that Sirius' dark eyes were narrowed and his jaw was clenched. He was furious, to say the least. "Yeah, I'm here. What's wrong?"

"I received a most…enlightening letter today, and not only would I like it to be contradicted, but if it's true I'd like to know why you lied to me."

"What are you going on about, Sirius?"

"You're a champion in the Triwizard Tournament – an unintended and generally unaccepted fourth champion – and you didn't think to tell me? What, you didn't think I should know this? I'm in jail, not dead! How could you break the rules and put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry's worry about something being wrong increased from uncertainty to flat out shock and anger. How had he found out about this? Had he managed to get a newspaper in Azkaban? It had happened before last year. But how could Sirius, his godfather, just accuse him of this without asking for his side of the story? He should know that the stories you hear aren't always true.

"How—how did you find out?"

"That's not important. How could you not tell me that you were a champion? I remember asking you who the champions were and you deliberately didn't tell me you were one," Sirius stated sternly. "Why would you cheat, Harry?"

"I think the more important question is how you could just accuse me of this without asking for my account of the story, Sirius! I would've thought that you, of all people, would know that the story told from unreliable witnesses are generally _wrong!_"

"Stop diverting the question and tell me why you did this! I know you don't want more attention, Harry, we both know you have enough of that, so tell me why."

"_I didn't put my name in, okay?!_" Harry shouted.

"Harry, are you—?"

"I'm not lying! I can't believe you won't trust me in this when I trusted you last year over a far greater matter."

"Then start from the beginning. Tell me what happened." Sirius' composed voice allowed Harry to take a breath and begin calming down. "Explain what happened the night your name was called."

"It's a simple story: the champions were called and everyone cheered, but then the flame in the Goblet changed again, Karkaroff called my name, and no one cheered because they thought I had cheated. Karkaroff and Dumbledore sort of got into an argument about it in front of everyone. But I'm telling the truth. I did _not_ put my name in. I don't know the first thing I about defeating the spell Dumbledore used to create the Age Line. And if I had had a choice in the matter, which I didn't because of the rules, I would've gladly handed over my place as a champion. I don't want to be a champion. I should've never come here in the first place," Harry explained. He sighed lightly, looking at the frame of the mirror instead of inside it at his godfather. His voice relaxed, he asked, "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I believe you," Sirius replied genuinely. "You're absolutely right. I should never have accused of cheating without asking you first. It was a courtesy you _somewhat_ bestowed on me last year." A faint smile appeared on his lips, but Harry wasn't in the mood for smiles and laughter, however relieved he was that his godfather believed him.

"But if you didn't enter your name, then who did?"

"I have no idea. No one believes me, not even Draco, so now I have no friends and enemies from all three schools."

"I'm your friend, Harry. You know I'll always be here for you."

"I know. But it's hard when you're stuck in Azkaban and the only other person who believes me is at Hogwarts."

"I know you've been through a lot already, but I have confidence in you. You'll get past this. It'll be just another thing you'll laugh at when this is all over."

"I hope you're right."

"Harry, is there anyone at Durmstrang castle that doesn't like you? Any old Death Eaters?" Sirius inquired.

"No. Not that I'm aware of anyway. Only Snape. But I don't think he would do this. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime wouldn't put the name of a student from another school in; it's bad for their chances of winning. Dumbledore and McGonagall wouldn't want one of their students to be in danger. Moody is a strange man, but he's so adamant about constant vigilance, and I can't see him placing a student in danger either. I really have no idea who would do it."

"Are there any older students that have a grudge against you?"

Montague wouldn't put his name in because he himself wanted to be Hogwarts champion. The only people who might want to harm him weren't old enough themselves – the Weasley twins, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. He didn't know any students from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons.

"No, there's no one."

"Just keep an eye out for suspicious behavior then."

"I will."

"I'd talk longer, but the guards will be going about their rounds in a few minutes. I just want to know one thing: Why didn't you tell me you were a champion?"

"I didn't want to worry you, and I didn't want to find out if you believed me or not in case you didn't."

"Well, luckily for you, it'll now be the only thing I think about. Be safe, Harry."

"I'll try. Now you have to answer my question. How did you find out I was a champion?"

"I got a letter from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Apparently, Ron was the one who heard us talking last week."

Harry barely heard Sirius say that he had to go and he just managed to utter a goodbye himself, he was in such a state of awe. He couldn't believe Weasley had heard him talking to Sirius in the Interchangeable Room. Of all the people, it had to be him. No doubt he had immediately told Granger, and she had deduced that Harry hadn't told Sirius he was a champion. Clearly, they had decided to tell him themselves, just to screw with him.

He could feel his face getting red from the anger that was rising up in his chest. How could they do this to him? How dare they send a letter to Sirius when _they_ had stopped being _his_ friend? He didn't care what they did to him, but to go to his godfather was just plain cruel. He knew they had done this to get back at him for what he had called them, and he couldn't help but want to retaliate. A part of him considered stopping to think, but the other part – the stronger part – couldn't help it.

Hiding his mirror under his pillow, Harry grabbed his robes from the hook and went to find his dear old friends, Ron and Hermione.

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 14—Fist to Face:

Harry gets into a fist fight with Weasley, and the article by Rita Skeeter comes out the morning he's in the hospital wing…


	14. Fist to Face

"Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power, that is not easy."

-Aristotle

**14**

**Fist to Face**

Hiding his mirror under his pillow, Harry grabbed his robes from the hook and went to find his dear old friends, Ron and Hermione.

He went into the Interchangeable Room, but immediately saw that neither of them were there, so he began circling the castle, hoping they were outside. They weren't near the _Ezero Slivi_, the Plum Lake, which is a small lake towards the back of the castle that turns a plum color during its sunrise and sunset. Further back, behind the castle, was a massive Quidditch pitch, larger than Hogwarts', with tall, metal hoops and lofty blood red stands. And that was where he found them walking.

Seeing his destination in sight, Harry instinctively started to quicken. When he was right behind them, he yelled, "You bastard!" Weasley turned toward him, his expression of surprise and confusion, and Harry couldn't stop himself from lifting his right arm and punching Weasley straight in the face. The force was so strong that Weasley was knocked to the ground, bright red blood seeping from his nostrils.

Granger screamed loudly, and then reached for her wand, but Harry was faster. His wand was in his hand before she could get her fingers into her robe pocket. He pointed it at her, but only said, "Don't make me hex you, Granger."

But before Harry could even turn his head, Weasley was slamming into him, pushing them both roughly to the cold, hard ground, his wand flying off into the grass. Harry's back collided with the earth and then Weasley was on top of him, and the air was knocked from his lungs. He looked up and saw Weasley's fist growing larger in size as it aimed for his face. He turned away and tightly shut his eyes, but the initial impact was still painful, a rough stinging on the left side of his face.

Harry tasted metal, a kind of copper flavor, and knew that his gums were bleeding. His face was already growing sore. In the background, he barely heard Granger yelling at them. "Stop it, both of you! Stop it _now!_"

Although Weasley was straddling him, pressing uncomfortably on his stomach, both of his arms were free. He tried punching Weasley in the face again, but the red-haired boy moved his head away quickly. Harry tried once more, and ended up pummeling him near the mouth, as Weasley grunted in pain.

"Stop it! _Petrificus Totalus!_" Granger screamed. Harry was preoccupied, but it was clear that she had missed because neither of them was frozen. Although he didn't hear the words of her next spell – because Weasley grunted as he clenched his fist – he saw Granger point her wand up and he saw blue sparks fly into the sky. Then he was nearly blinded when another punch landed harshly near his right eye. He let out a groan, one hand going to his face.

Once the initial pain vanished, Harry, jaw clenched, attempted to hit Weasley again, but their arms were too entangled, and he ended up striking Weasley in the shoulder. The red-haired boy slammed a fist against Harry's chest, thumping some air from his lungs and causing his legs to jerk in response. He coughed slightly, trying to regain his breath, as Granger continued shouting.

When he had a clear shot, Harry got as much momentum as he could and socked Weasley straight in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards on Harry's legs. But while the red-haired and red-faced Weasley held his stomach, coughing, Harry wiggled his legs free and stood up. He spat a disgusting glob of saliva and blood onto the ground. The back of his robes and his hair were filthy, covered in pieces of grass and dirt that fell after getting to his feet. As he stood there, he could feel his overused right hand starting to swell in size and turn ugly shades of purple and blue.

Weasley, still lying on the ground, asked, "That all you got?"

Harry stepped forward about to pounce on Weasley again, his right arm raised threateningly in the air, when someone grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with a strong tug of his robes and wrapping an arm around his middle to further hold him back. He tried to break free, but the man was too strong.

"What is going on here?" McGonagall exclaimed stridently from somewhere behind him. He heard her light footsteps on the grass.

But Harry didn't care that there were professors here. He wouldn't care if the entire school showed up. Let them come. He wasn't finished with Ron Weasley yet.

"How dare you send a letter to Sirius! He has _nothing _to do with _our_ disagreements! If I didn't want my godfather to know about me being a champion, then it was _my_ bloody decision, not yours, _you git!_"

pHolding a hand against his bleeding nose, Weasley retorted, "Maybe talking to a i_murderer_/i has rubbed of on you, Potter! First you cheat to get into the Triwizard Tournament and now you're punching people in the face! You're mad, you know that?! i_You're a bloody lunatic!_/i"/p

"Oh, I'm a lunatic? When you sent—"

"_Stop it!_" Granger interjected. "We send that letter to Black because Ron heard you talking to him like you were friends, and from what you said to him it was clear that you hadn't told him that you are a champion. And I thought he should know what you've been doing lately, so that maybe he could do something about your behavior, Harry. We simply wanted him to help you."

"It was _my_ decision! Mine and mine alone! And don't call me Harry, you have _no right!_"

"It was to help you—"

"I don't care that you wanted to help me! You don't _get it!_ You don't know anything about me and _my _decisions! I didn't want Sirius to know because I didn't want him to worry about me, and I know he will," Harry shouted, feeling the heat rising in his face. "And I didn't put my name in the bleeding Goblet! You think I want more attention? I wasn't even sure I wanted to come here in the first place! So don't talk about things you don't understand! Don't you even dare think that you had a right to go into my personal life and mess around with it when _you_ stopped being _my_ friend!"

Harry stopped, out of breath, his eyes filling with tears until he blinked and they trickled down his bruised cheeks. The man holding him back softened his grip, as if he didn't want to be physically touching a tearing boy.

"Enough!" McGonagall said, stepping forward into Harry's view. "This is completely unacceptable! We do not resolve problems by resorting to fist fights! Potter, Weasley, you will both have detention everyday for the next two weeks." Stern-faced, she turned to Harry. "I'll leave your punishment to be decided by Professor Snape, Mr. Potter." Then she looked down at Weasley, who was still on the ground. "Mr. Weasley, follow me to the _bolnitza_, the hospital wing, while I decide what to do with you. Miss Granger, if you could accompany me."

Weasley got up slowly from his sitting position. His face and ears were red, the blood on his skin barely darker than the color of his face. He glared at Harry as he followed McGonagall towards the castle. Granger had taken a few steps, but now she was looking back at Harry.

"Just know that it was done to help you." The dead grass crunched underfoot as she walked away.

The arm around his chest and the hand grasping the back of his robes hesitantly released him. But the man's grip had been the only thing holding him up because his legs felt shaky and unstable beneath him, and he let himself fall to the ground, unable to care if the knees of his trousers got dirty. He was filthy already.

His right hand and the muscles in his face were beginning to throb rhythmically in pain, as the blood on his damaged skin started to dry and encrust. The tears coming down his cheeks felt hot, as if they might burn him and make more scars for him to bear.

Harry was made aware of the other person's presence when the man cleared his throat. He didn't care that the man was seeing him cry, but when he heard the light footfalls of the man coming around to stand in front of him, he quickly wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. Glancing up, he saw instantly that it was greasy-haired Snape, that he had been the one keeping him from hitting Weasley. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or angry.

But something about the situation made him want to laugh: The fact that Snape, a man he hated and who hated him back, was seeing him at one of his weakest moments was both cruel and comical.

Snape knelt down about a foot away from him, clearly not wanting to get too close. "You have to get up, Potter. We are going to the hospital wing. You cannot stay out here all afternoon and night."

"What d'you care? You think I'm a terrible person – that I'm arrogant and selfish – and today has only proven that you were right about me all along. You might as well just leave me here to be eaten by something in the middle of the night."

Snape said nothing. Harry looked up at him, unable to read his expression. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched. At seeing his professor's brooding appearance, he remembered his own fears, and muttered, "Now that you know I've been talking to Sirius, I just…Promise you won't say anything to the Ministry. He's the only one I have left." Harry looked down at the floor, realizing who he was talking to. "Forget it, you don't care anyway."

"I won't say anything, just get up and get inside the castle."

"Fine." Using both hands to get up, he unintentionally made the pain worse. He placed his unhurt hand over his no doubt blackened left eye. Any momentary touch made him cringe in pain.

Harry picked up his wand from the ground and followed Snape into the castle, neither speaking a word to the other as they made their way to the hospital wing on the third floor. Through double doors, Harry entered a large room, much like the one at Hogwarts, with metal cots covered in white sheets and white pillows with simple bedside tables and closable curtains. He saw that Weasley was lying down in a bed at the opposite end of the room, with Granger sitting next to him. McGonagall was speaking to Dumbledore.

An older man, after seeing him, quickly rushed over, and motioned for him to take the bed closest to the door – the one farthest from Ron Weasley. He took off his shoes and climbed in, as the white-haired man asked, "_Kak_ _se kazvash?_"

"Sorry? I don't speak Bulgarian."

"Oh. I forgot," the man said, smiling lightly. "Vat is your name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Ah, a pleasure. Now vat of you is injured?"

"Err, my left eye…well, the left side of my face in general, really, and my right hand."

"Fist-fights. Not the best vay to make friends, yes?" The man's heavily wrinkled eyes seemed to smile as his mouth did.

"No, not really."

"I'll bring you Bruise-Healing Paste. It vill help heal your bruises faster. And some Deflating Draught for that eye, yes?"

After Harry nodded, the man strolled away, and came back a few minutes later with two vials and a roll of gauze. He gently placed a generous amount of thick, yellow paste on Harry's knuckles, and then wrapped some white gauze around his hand to hold the potion in place. The old man wiped the Deflating Draught, a purple potion, onto the skin around his eye. It felt cold and tingly on his skin, and he liked the feeling.

The old man, whose name was Healer Nikolai, closed the curtains around Harry's bed to give him privacy. But almost immediately after, Snape came through, staying near the foot of his bed. He folded his arms over his chest. "You're detention will start tomorrow night at seven pm. Come to my room – third from the main door – and I will explain your punishment then." He glanced at Harry and then left quickly.

Staring straight ahead at the slightly swaying blue curtain, he listened to the sounds of people's footsteps on the marble floor. He could hear a few distinct sets. One in particular – light, spaced apart footfalls – were drawing close to his curtained space.

The draping was pulled aside and Professor Dumbledore slowly walked in. Although he didn't look pleased about the situation, there was still composure and understanding in his blue eyes. He stood beside Harry's bed, looking down at him through his glasses.

"Professor McGonagall, and just now Professor Snape, explained to me what happened," his headmaster began. "Let me first state that I understand where you were coming from – what Weasley and Granger did was a breach of privacy – but now you must understand that what you did was uncalled for and unacceptable. Harry, we do not resolve our problems by physically hurting someone, neither with a wand nor a fist.

"That said, I worry that your being a champion has caused some unfortunate…side effects. You cannot avoid participating in the tournament, but I see how the other students react in your presence, and it has come to my attention that you're not on friendly terms with Mr. Malfoy at the moment. I know that telling the school, or even telling the world, that you did not place your name in the fires of the Goblet would not change their minds, despite it being the truth."

"You believe me?"

"Of course. Not only would you not be able to get past my Age Line – might I add, that I always took pleasure in knowing that no one could – but I could tell from how shocked you were and from the worry I saw in your eyes that you hadn't done it," Dumbledore explained. "Although I believe you, you should not give everyone else a reason to suspect that you cheated. Give them a reason to believe in you, to trust you. You are a Hogwarts champion, Harry, and therefore you should act like one."

Harry nodded. "I understand, Professor. I'll do my best."

Dumbledore nodded as Healer Nikolai came in and handed Harry a vial of Sleeping Draught. "For a good night's sleep."

"Thank you." The men left and Harry could hear Weasley's snores coming from the other side of the room. He downed it quickly, one hand holding his nose, and placed the vial on his bedside table. The pillows felt soft and cloud-like underneath his head. So much in the room was pale and white – the blankets, the walls, the ceiling – that he started to lose track of where exactly he was, as things started getting blurry, and soon he was in a deep sleep.

* * *

Eyes weary and head groggy, Harry awoke late the next morning, his hand still bandaged and the draught still around his eye. The curtains were drawn, but above his head light was streaming in through high windows, causing the white walls to be bright and intense. He looked away, the light hurting his eyes so early, and saw Healer Nikolai pushing aside part of his curtain.

"Good morning," the man said cheerfully in his thick accent.

"Good morning."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Vell, vhy don't ve look at your eye, then." He leaned over and took off Harry's round glasses, placing them on the bedside table. "It is much better than yesterday. It is already starting to heal." The man dabbed on some yellow paste now that the swelling had gone down, and told him he would be back soon to check on his hand.

From the opposite end of the room, he could hear Weasley speaking. "It was that sod at the other end of the room that hit me first, if you want to know. Just came up and socked me right in the face. And I couldn't just let him get away with it, so I had to hit him back."

"Of course, of course," Healer Nikolai replied.

_Git_, Harry thought. He was clearly trying to get the healer on his side, and would no doubt retell the story to everyone who would listen after they got out of the hospital wing. What did he care? Let Weasley tell whomever he pleased. Everyone at the castle already thought ill of him; what was one more wide-spread rumor to him?

Harry reached over to the side table to pick up his glasses and spotted a note on top of a rolled up newspaper. Quickly sitting up in bed, he put on his glasses and grabbed the note.

_The_ Daily Prophet _is selling faster than a Muggle wildfire. Already people want to know more about famous Harry Potter, orphaned boy and now unexpected fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament. If you're interested in another interview my Quick-Quotes Quill is ever poised and ready. I hope you heal fully in time for the first task – we need you bruise-free and picture-ready!_

_Rita Skeeter _

_Reporter for the_ Daily Prophet.

Uncurling the newspaper, he saw the thick, bolded words of the first page: **HARRY POTTER, THE REMARKABLE FOUTH CHAMPION**.

_Harry Potter, 14, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been picked as the entirely unexpected fourth champion in the Triwizard Tournament games, which had been suspended for over two-hundred years for being deemed dangerous and unsafe. Potter's name was pulled from the famous Goblet of Fire the second night of their stay at the Durmstrang Institute._

_Although most believe Potter cheated, since the rules stated no one under seventeen would be allowed to participate, Potter himself has assured that he did no such thing to enter the tournament, stating that someone else must have placed his name into the flames. The young man, who bears a lightning bolt-shaped scar, said he is quite nervous about the upcoming tasks, believing that he fears one of the champions may not make it. The other champions are Cedric Diggman, 17, for Hogwarts, Viktor Krum, 17, for Durmstrang, and Fleur Delacour, 17, for Beauxbatons._

_Although the three other champions are older and more experienced, Harry Potter has a brave exterior and overcomes his unease about the tournament with his unremitting motivation. No doubt he will need it throughout the year, both for the tournament and outside it, now that he is friendless and alone. It would be quite difficult for any boy of only fourteen to be the victim of a miscommunication and a possible framing that resulted in the converging animosity of students from three schools, and yet that is exactly what Potter is up against. The students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang and even his own school, Hogwarts, have been distant towards him lately, Potter said, believing he placed his own name in the Goblet. The outrage of most students was a result of his being chosen as a surprising fourth champion, and so far all fingers remained pointed at young Harry Potter._

The picture above the article contained only him, smiling widely, as the bright flash went off and he blinked repeatedly, laughing slightly. There were hints of the other champions standing next to him – a shoulder, an elbow, a long strand of hair – but they had been cut out.

And that was when it hit him, that was when he had his revelation. Before Ron Weasley could get the chance to spread his vicious rumors about Harry being the champion who cheated, who punched him, and who no one should root for, he would tell his side of the story to Rita Skeeter. He would be the poor, lonely champion that was misunderstood. She had already laid down the foundation for it in this first article. It was perfect. If it worked maybe he wouldn't be hated anymore by the other Hogwarts students, maybe they would actually believe him.

The curtain rustled and Healer Nikolai walked in. "Interesting article. So, did you put your name in Goblet?"

"No, actually I didn't."

"You are telling the truth," he replied, taking Harry's right in his own purple-veined hands to examine it.

As the healer began unrolling the yellowed gauze, Harry asked, "How do you know I'm not lying?"

"I have seen too many students lie to me about vhy they hurt themselves, and I have learned to distinguish between who is telling the truth and who is not," Healer Nikolai explained, his eyes on Harry's injured hand. "_You_ are telling the truth."

"If only everyone else believed me, my life would be a lot easier."

"If life vas easy, then there vould be nothing to vork for, Mr. Potter. Ve have to make an effort in life or it von't mean anything." The man peeled back the layers of gauze, and Harry saw that his bruises were blue and purple any more; they were greenish and yellow, as if they had been healing for days, instead of a single night. Healer Nikolai applied more yellow paste and more gauze, and then stood up straight, picking up the half-used vial. "Okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay."

The man walked away cheerfully and Harry was left to contemplate the idea of going to Rita Skeeter more thoroughly. A couple of hours later, still in the hospital bed and still confident in his decision, he received a letter from a much unexpected individual.

_Harry,_

_Now that I've read the article about you being a fourth champion, I've reconsidered what Draco told me about you being a cheat. You're a good person, and I don't think you would have done that behind your best friend's back. I hate to say it, but Draco is just blinded by his own pride and jealousy. It's so brave of you to go on with the tournament when you know it's dangerous and that you could die. Even if you did cheat and deceive Draco, I'll still think you're still brave and heroic._

_Pansy Parkinson_

_P.S.—Don't tell Draco I wrote to you about this. Let's just keep it between us._

Harry finished reading the letter with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Pansy Parkinson wrote him a letter in which she thinks he's brave and heroic? What world has he been dropped into? But more importantly, why did she write the letter to him behind Draco's back? He knew that Draco and Pansy are together, so why was she telling him that he was a good person, that he was courageous, and that Draco was just jealous? It was not that he didn't want someone to be on his side, it simply confused him.

Refolding the letter, he was content believing that girls are simply crazy. He took off his glasses and rested his head on the pillow. Since he wasn't allowed to leave the hospital wing yet and since he didn't have anything else to do, he went to sleep. But an hour later he woke up to the sound of numerous owls. Startled, he jumped in his bed and grabbed his glasses. There were nearly a dozen various-colored owls, letters tied to their feet, sitting around his curtained space, gawking at him.

After reading a few of the letters, he realized that they were from the readers of the _Daily Prophet_, and he went on to read the others as more owls flew in. Most congratulated on him on his bravery in the face of such harsh criticism by the other students. One woman commented that she was proud of "his enduring the foolishness of the other adolescents," and she was sure that they would eventually see that he was the Hogwarts champion to support. But there were a few angry letters in the mix. A mother of a first year at Hogwarts said that he was "a horrible boy to cheat the rules of the tournament when others worked hard to get where they were today." Despite some heated letters, he felt lucky that he hadn't gotten a Howler. He especially wouldn't want Weasley to hear it.

The letters were left in an unorganized pile at the foot of his bed and the owls had all gone back to their people. Healer Nikolai pulled open the curtains, allowing him to see the whole room, and informed him that he was ready to leave. "Just be sure to come back tomorrow to have your bandages changed."

As Harry put on his robes and his shoes, sitting at the edge of his bed, the healer opened Weasley's curtains, and he saw that Granger, the Weasley twins, and Angela Johnson were standing around his bed, smiling and talking quietly. The problem with being called a cheat was that no one came to the hospital wing to see if he was doing okay. He knew he would have a friend to come see him if Draco hadn't refused to accept that he was right.

Harry grabbed his wand from the bedside table and walked out of the room, unbeknownst to him that both Granger and Weasley were watching him go, her eyes full of worry and his full of anger.

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 15—First Round:

Harry gives Skeeter another interview and attends the Dueling Club's first round…


	15. First Round

"He that climbs a ladder must begin at the first round."

-Sir Walter Scott

**15**

**First Round**

No one said anything to Harry as he passed through the corridor to his compartment, but he saw the looks he got as students read the _Daily Prophet_ that their parents must have sent them. Before anyone could argue with him over what the article was about, he hurried into his room, and found Draco sitting on his bed, reading a book. The blond-haired boy didn't look up as he entered.

After Harry threw off his robes, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and laid down on his bed, he heard Draco mutter something. "Heard you got into a fight with Weasley."

He propped himself onto his elbows to look over at Draco, whose gaze was still focused on his book. "So you're talking to me now?"

"No."

Harry wanted to say, "Whatever, I don't care if never talk to me again," but after a few moments of silence, he added, "I punched him in the face, and then it kind of escalated from there." Draco didn't respond, but when Harry glanced over, he saw him smirk momentarily, before clearing his throat. Satisfied, he laid down once more, putting his bandaged hand on his chest.

* * *

Harry knew that if he wanted to quell the rumors that were sure to spread about the fight between him and Weasley, he had to be interviewed by Rita Skeeter immediately. It was easier said than done. After breakfast the next morning and before class, he searched the first floor for her. Instead of Skeeter he found Fleur Delacour. She was speaking in French to a bald reporter of tall stature and strong build. Her words traveled down the corridor to Harry, and although he couldn't understand a word, her voice was lovely and charming, even from afar. She twirled a strand of her long, silvery blonde hair around her pale fingers as a short photographer snapped pictures of her.

Just as he was about to turn away, he heard her say in English, "It 'eez completely reediculous. Harry Potter 'eez a _leetle_ boy."* She giggled, batting her eyelashes, as the reporter laughed.

Somehow this made him want to find Rita Skeeter even more. He wasn't just a little boy, and he would show them all. He would show the world. Or at least he hoped he would be able to. Frankly, he had no idea what the first task would entail, and it was only a week and a half away. He wasn't even sure how to prepare for it.

As Harry thought about the first task, he turned a corner and nearly bumped into Mad-Eye Moody. In his professor's hand was an old, silver flask. He gulped something down, and then said, "Careful where you're going, Potter. You don't want to hurt yourself too badly before your first task. Though I heard you got into a bit of a tussle already, and it wasn't even with another champion."

"Sorry, Professor. Err…yeah, I got into a fight with Ron Weasley."

"Hope it wasn't over a girl."

"No, it was about—well, it doesn't really matter anymore," Harry replied. "Have you seen Rita Skeeter?"

"No, not around here. Are you looking for her?"

"Yeah, I'm going to give her another interview. One I think she'll want to hear."

"You're using the press to your advantage, is that it?" Moody asked. When Harry nodded, he added, "Be careful it doesn't backfire. The interest of the press is fleeting, and the interest of the readers even shorter. Oh, there is she is. Be careful what you say to that quill of hers."

Harry followed his professor's gaze and turned to see that Skeeter was coming around the bend with the photographer she was with at the Weighing of the Wands. As quickly as she came forward to greet him, Moody left just as fast to get away.

"Harry, how are you?" Skeeter asked. She was fully-clothed in cerulean blue. "Here to give me an interview?" He knew she was half-joking, so when he responded with, "Yes, actually I am," her impassiveness faltered for a moment. She seemed at a loss for words, but then said, "Perfect. Come into my office."

Harry followed her and the photographer into an empty room. After getting out her Quick-Quotes Quill and sucking on the end, she asked, "So, what made you want another interview with me? Was it because you saw how well the first article went? The people want to know all about you, Harry, you're very interesting."

"That's good. I want to be interesting. I want people to get people's sympathy. You already laid down the foundation with the first article. You mentioned that the other students were against me, and now I have proof," Harry explained, raising his hand and pointing to his eye. "Now I have another story to tell that will help get people on my side if you're willing to listen."

"I'm always willing to listen," Skeeter said, a pleased smirk appearing on her pale features. "Now let's hear that story."

Harry explained the fight between him and Ron Weasley, saying that they used to be friends (true), that they bloodied each other up so bad they both had to go to the hospital wing (somewhat true), and that the fight was because Weasley believed he cheated to get into the tournament (not true at all). He left out the letter and the fact that Granger had been there.

At the end, he made sure that Rita Skeeter would give the article a sympathetic angle in his favor, and the next morning he saw that she had been true to her word (for once). The article illustrated that Harry had been victimized by Weasley for something he hadn't done. Reading the newspaper, a present from Skeeter, in his compartment, Harry couldn't help but smile. This was working out just as he had planned.

But then an unpleasant thought dawned on him. Maybe Draco was right: Perhaps he _did_ like the attention. Or at least he was starting to. But was wrong with wanting attention? As the Boy Who Lived he couldn't escape it. So what was the harm in using it to his advantage?

* * *

The numerous large, circular tables in the Dining Hall had been replaced that cold Friday evening with four long platforms, each with the symbol of a blood red double-headed bird, three stations along the walls and one a few feet from the doors. Beside each stage was a red-robed professor. Standing in the center of one of the platforms was a young professor with choppy hair and a light dusting of freckles along his cheeks. Harry stood among the students ready to duel, as well as the others that had come to watch for entertainment. He gripped his wand in his pocket with his now fully-healed right hand, listening carefully to the instructions.

"Now that ve are all here, I vill quickly announce all the rules for those that don't know them. One, the Unforgivable Curses are, of course, forbidden. Two, physical violence is also forbidden. Three, casting a spell ven your partner is unprepared is unacceptable," the professor explained. "The first round vill consist of sixteen duels, four duels at one time. The dueling partners have been picked at random, so I vill not have any complaining. The date of the second round is yet to be determined."

The teacher shifted his stance from one foot to the other as the students looked up at him. He glanced at the parchment in his hands. "Let's see. The first four duels are between Antonov and Spinnet, Granger and Demir, Laurent and Gusev, Bernard and Borisov."

Harry, standing alone in the crowd, watched as bushy-haired Granger made her way through the group to one of the stages, where a tall, older Durmstrang girl with dark hair and a stern features was waiting. He turned to see that Spinnet had to duel a muscular Durmstrang boy of about sixteen. On one stage was a blonde-haired Beauxbaton girl named Laurent and short but wide thirteen-year-old Durmstrang boy named Gusev, and on the other stage were two boys: red-robed Borisov and blue-cloaked Bernard, both seventeen.

"Wands at the ready!" the young professor said, now standing among the crowd. Each student bowed, eyes still on the other's face, before raising their wand in front of their face, like thin but powerful swords. All the duelers turned on their heels, walked slowly to the other end of the stage, and then faced each other once more.

Before Harry could even decide which battle he wanted to watch, light was suddenly flashing brightly across the room. Granger raised her wand and yelled, "_Avis!_" which caused a bunch of white birds to fly out, and then she immediately followed with, "_Oppugno!_" The birds began pecking at the tall Bulgarian girl, who didn't have a chance to raise her wand in return. Harry had to give her credit for being quick.

On the next stage over, Antonov had shouted, "_Everte Statum!_" He saw that Spinnet was now on her back after having been thrown back a few feet. But from the floor she raised her wand at the boy and yelled, "_Rictusempra!_" A flash of light hit the boy and he began to laugh uncontrollably, as Spinnet got to her feet to dust herself off. The boy tried to retort, but couldn't say enough of the spell for it to work.

The duel between the two boys seemed to have come to a standstill because while one was tied with ropes and couldn't raise his wand, the other was unable to speak, his tongue was swelling in size. The girl Laurent had already won her round because after a few back and forth spells where they shot hot air at each other or flames of fire, she had pointed her wand at him and shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" The Durmstrang boy, Gusev, was now lying on the stage, limbs frozen to his side. The blonde girl was clearly pleased with herself as the professor at her stage raised the red flag, symbolizing her win.

Harry watched as Demir yelled, "_Stupefy!_" and the red flash went straight for Granger, but she was at the ready because she counteracted it with, "_Protego!_" The bright red flash instantly flew back at Demir, who was struck in the chest and knocked out by her own spell. The flag was raised and Granger won the duel.

On the other side of the room, Borisov, the boy that had been tied up, managed to cut the cords around him, but since Bernard couldn't counteract with a spell, he instantly won. Spinnet had attempted to Stun Antonov, after hearing the other student do it, but the boy had avoided the spell, and while Spinnet was distracted by the course of the red flash, he yelled, "_Confundo!_" Spinnet was hit near the shoulder and not a second later she looked around the room, unsure of what to do. She clearly wasn't going to attack back, and so Antonov won.

"Vell done, vell done!" the young professor exclaimed. "The next group is Moreau and Markovski, Davies and Girard, Simon and Gorskey, and McLaggen and Bogdan."

Harry started to grow nervous, knowing that he would either have to go the next round or the one after that. Granger had gone up against an older Durmstrang girl. He seriously hoped he dueled a second or third year, or at least someone who was less experienced than he was. He knew he was a good student, intelligent and quick, but he could still be caught off guard.

He watched as a seventeen-year-old French boy named Moreau waited for a younger Bulgarian girl named Markovski. Davies smiled widely and charmingly as he saw that his opponent was a brunette beauty named Girard. A blue-cloaked girl named Simon stood with Gorskey, an older Durmstrang boy whose grimace seemed set in his face, while McLaggen went against red-robed Bogdan. They bowed and turned away and the dueling began.

Almost immediately Moreau was defeated when Markovski Stunned him. The red flag was raised at their stage. Davies said he didn't want to fight his opponent because he would never hit a girl, but after she shrugged and attempted to him with him the Jelly-Legs Jinx, he fought back with "_Furnunculus!_" Most likely taking clues from Granger, she yelled, "_Protego!_" The spell hit Davies in the face. Red, painful-looking boils began to pop up all over his face and neck. Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing at the sight of Davies getting so angry at his own sudden ugliness.

The French girl, Simon, seemed unsure of what to do and a little frightened of her opponent, Gorskey, which only seemed to amuse him. He walked toward her, but Simon yelled, "_Impedimenta!_" and Gorskey tripped on the stage, falling face first. His face grew as red as his robes. He got up and yelled, "_Incendio!_" The orange flames shot out from the tip of his robes and caught the bottom of her hem. She screamed and ran off stage, earning Gorskey an immediate red flag.

McLaggen dodged a Disarming Spell by a fraction of an inch and counteracted with a Stinging Hex, which hit Bogdan in his wand arm, which caused the skin to grow red and inflamed. Bogdan grunted in pain as he tried to raise his arm. McLaggen laughed, which made the Durmstrang boy livid. McLaggen seemed to know that he shouldn't have laughed because his eyebrows rose in alarm. The crowd began to laugh, knowing something interesting was about to happen. Bogdan raised his arm, despite the evident pain, and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" McLaggen's wand went soaring away from him, and then Bogdan finished with, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" McLaggen froze in place, startled expression and all, before falling with a thud to the floor. The red flag was raised and Bogdan stuck his tongue out at the unmoving McLaggen.

On the other side of the room, boil-faced Davies shouted a spell to Girard, but she dodged his spell and yelled, "_Tarantallegra!_" The flash hit him in the chest and his legs began to move uncontrollably in dance arrangements. After a few moments, in which Girard giggled at his predicament, he tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. His wand rolled down the stage and Girard picked it up with a sly smile. She got a red flag.

"The third group is Montague and Michel, Serban and Diggory, Johnson and Lefevre, and Lukac and Roux."

Now Harry knew that he was definitely in the final round. It gave him some comfort to know that he still had a while to prepare, but in the back of his mind he still worried. He almost laughed out loud when he saw large, muscular Montague stand on the same platform with Michel, a thin, handsome Beauxbaton student. Michel, sadly, had no chance from the start. Serban, a twelve-year-old boy stood with Diggory, while Johnson quickly shook hands with a petite girl named Lefevre. Lukac, black hair running down her back, stared bitterly at Roux, a French girl with short red hair.

As the duelers bowed to each other, the doors to the Dining Hall opened. Three Durmstrang professors, McGonagall, and Snape arrived to view the spectacle. Harry turned back just as the students turned back around to face their opponents.

Harry had to say that he was thoroughly impressed that Montague actually knew some spells and didn't have to resort to physical violence, which would have gotten him disqualified. Montague yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" but Michel blocked him and retorted, "_Incarcerous!_" The ropes wrapped themselves around Montague's middle, pining his arms, but he was so strong that he broke the ropes with a little stretching. Michel looked shocked.

A duel on the other side of the room caught Harry's attention: Johnson had attempted to Stun Lefevre, but she ducked and from on her knees she shouted, "_Serpensortia!_" A long, green snake slithered from the tip of Lefevre's wand. Johnson laughed in reply, before adding, "Did you think that would scare me? Now let's see what you're afraid of! _Fera Verto!_"

Johnson aimed her wand at the snake and it changed into thousands of tiny black spiders that began crawling their way towards Lefevre. The girl in blue took multiple steps back, her eyes focused on the critters. She yelled, "_Scourgify!_ in an apparent attempt to clean the stage, but it didn't work, and while she her attentions where elsewhere, Johnson shouted, "_Stupefy!_" After a red flash hit Lefevre in the chest, a red flag went up. Most of the crowd cheered at Johnson's win, and Harry saw McGonagall clapping animatedly.

After throwing spells back and forth for a few minutes, where most were dodged or blocked, the red-haired Roux shouted, "_Silencio!_" This time Lukac didn't have enough time to duck or turn away. It hit her straight in the chest. She tried to yell, but she couldn't utter a single word. Her face grew red in both anger and embarrassment, but after she dropped her wand to the ground, enraged, the flag was raised for Roux.

Serban may have been young but he was clearly sneaky. Diggory threw the Full Body-Bind Curse at him, but it wasn't at first clear whether it had hit Serban or not since Serban's arms froze at his side, but he gasped loudly at the flash. Diggory took a step forward, unsure of what had happened, but then the young boy brandished his wand. Diggory was hit with the Tongue-Tying Curse. His tongue flipped back on itself, making it hard for him to talk.

While Serban laughed at what he had done, Diggory pointed his wand at himself and said, "Dele—_Deletrius!_" Serban stopped snickering when Diggory took a few steps toward him, and yelled, "_Aqua Erecto!"_ Water shot out from his wand, drenching the boy from head to toe. By the look of his shivering body, it was clearly cold water. But before Serban could raise his wand in response, Diggory finished the duel by exclaiming, "_Immobulus!_" While he wasn't completely frozen, he couldn't duel any longer, and Diggory got a red flag.

The Hogwarts students in the crowd cheered while the young Durmstrang professor said, "Very good job! Now the final group of students: Potter and Nikolov, Petrov and Weasley, Krum and Morel, and Malfoy and Korovin."

Gripping his wand tightly, Harry exhaled and made his way to the stage nearest to the Dining Hall doors. Waiting for him was a sixteen-year-old Durmstrang student, who was tall and muscular and unfriendly-looking. Harry was pleased he wouldn't have to physically fight him. He looked at the other stages to see that Weasley was going to fight a younger Durmstrang boy. Krum was shaking hands with a French boy named Morel, while Draco tried not to stare at a pretty Bulgarian girl named Korovin.

"Wands at the ready!" Harry bowed to Nikolov, who bent in response, but they kept their eyes on each other. Nikolov had dark, hollow eyes and he didn't seem to blink. Harry brandished his wand in front of his face, before turning and walking away. Near the end of the stage, he turned and faced the Durmstrang boy. As if he were far away, he distantly heard a few other students yell spells at each other. Harry shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Nikolov blocked the spell with a flick of his wand and yelled, "_Tarantallegra!_" With the bright flash flying at him, Harry said the first thing that came to mind: "_Protego!_" The spell hit Nikolov, making it hard for him to control his legs. But before Harry could say anything else, Nikolov yelled, "_Levicorpus!_"

The room blurred for a moment as Harry was strung up by ankles by a cord that wasn't really there. He heard Nikolov undo the damage Harry had caused, but Harry realized he still had his wand in his hand. It was much harder to figure out where things were upside down as blood rushed to his head, making him light-headed, but he found Nikolov and shouted, "_Everte Statum!_" He could kind of see that Nikolov had been thrown back. He pointed his wand at himself, fumbling slightly. "_Deletrius!_" Harry exclaimed, remembering that Diggory had used it earlier. Harry let out a yell as he toppled to the ground.

Nikolov stood up, his chest heaving angrily, but as he pointed his wand, Harry, still sitting on the floor, yelled, "_Stupefy!_" The bright red flash hit Nikolov in the chest. He fell to the ground and his body went sliding for a few inches. Harry stood as some in the crowd cheered. As the professor raised the red flag, Harry smiled, pleased that he beat an older student at a duel.

Watching from the stage, he saw that Weasley was having some trouble with the boy named Petrov. Not only was his face red from embarrassment, but he had red boils on his arms. Petrov was younger, Weasley should be able to take him, but if he couldn't then Harry would certainly have a good laugh at Weasley's expense. On the other side of the room, Krum was standing beside a red flag. Morel, the Beauxbaton student, looked as if he had been electrified: his hair was frizzled and standing on end.

Draco seemed to have a match in Korovin, for neither had done much damage to the other. Korovin yelled, "_Confundo!_" at the same time Draco shouted, "_Stupefy!_" Draco dodged the bright flash that came soaring towards him, but Korovin didn't – she was knocked to the ground, and Harry turned his attention to Ron Weasley's duel.

Weasley and Petrov both looked bruised and battered, and it seemed they were ducking each other's spells rather than counteracting them. They were being defensive instead of aggressive. They would be here all day if one of them didn't do something.

"_Tarantallegra!_" Petrov shouted, almost lazily. Weasley ducked. Someone in the crowd exclaimed, "Get him!" But no one was sure which side the person wanted to instigate. Weasley seemed to think it was him because his face turned a darker shade of red. Harry wasn't sure he could defeat the young Bulgarian, but just as he thought that, his old friend yelled, "_Levicorpus!_"

Petrov was hoisted into the air so quickly that he lost his grip on his wand. And that meant that Weasley had won. Harry heard Granger cheering, as the crowd applauded loudly.

Harry jumped off of the stage, as the young professor said that the next round would be in exactly four weeks on the 16th of December. "Study up and practice as much as you can!" As Harry walked towards the doors, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see fellow champion Krum.

"You did very vell with Nikolov. He can be very insensitive and he doesn't like it ven he doesn't vin."

"I can see that," Harry joked. "I didn't see what you did, but it's clear that you're very quick."

"As I am on a broom, too."

"I'm quick on a broom as well, Krum."

"Then ve shall have a race one day. Vat do you say?"

"Yes, I agree." Krum extended his hand and Harry shook it fervently.

Harry continued towards the doors, but once again stopped quickly by McGonagall when she said, "Well done, Potter. Quick thinking on your part."

"Thank you."

As Harry left the castle alone and went back to the Hogwarts Express, he thought that maybe he could beat the other champions at the tournament. Maybe he could actually go up against three seventeen-year-olds and win. Just maybe.

---------

* Idea from The French Dark Lord. Thanks!

**A/N:** I don't know if you could tell from the names, but I made sure that the first round of duels consisted of students from different schools. The second round, however, will have some dueling partners from the same school. It's because I wrote the names on a piece of a paper, and I'm going by the sheet. If I have time I'll put the names online, so that you guys can see it too. Have a great weekend and week!

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Preview of Chapter 16—Spy in the Castle:

Someone unexpected shows Harry what he'll have to battle in the first task; he has a mysterious nightmare that makes him think someone is pretending to be a person he knows, and then the Triwizard Tournament begins…


	16. Spy in the Castle

"In other men we faults can spy, and blame the mote that dims their eye; each little speck and blemish find; to our own stronger errors blind."

-Benjamin Franklin

**16**

**Spy in the Castle**

The week leading up to the first task passed faster than Harry had anticipated it would. On the evening before the big day, he wished he could get time to slow down a little, but he knew that he could hole himself up with Snape and time wouldn't grow sluggish. As he sat on his bed, reading his notes from his Transfiguration/Charms class to get pointers and to keep his mind fresh, Draco wrote a letter to Parkinson, judging by the faraway look on his face. He had recently learned Depulso, the Banishing Spell, and Densuageo, the Teeth-Growing Spell. Though he doubted he would use the latter for his first task.

Out of nowhere, there was a sharp knock on the door. Draco looked up at him, so he got up from bed and opened it. Standing out in the thin corridor was Professor Snape. "May I speak with you, Potter?"

"Err…sure," Harry said, moving out into the hallway.

But his professor stopped him with, "You'll need shoes and a cloak."

"We're going outside?" When Snape nodded, Harry slipped his feet into his shoes and tied the laces quickly. He noticed the apparent curiosity on Draco's face, but Harry also had no idea what was going on as he grabbed his thick cloak, putting his arms into the sleeves as he followed Snape down the corridor.

The combination of gusting cold wind and a light snowfall made it all the more freezing outside as they trudged through a thick layer of snow that had fallen earlier in the week. He thought winters in England were bad. That was nothing compared to the frigid temperatures here, and it was only November. As they neared the castle and started going around towards the back, Harry asked, "Where are we going?"

"It will be better if you wait to find out," was all he said in response. He continued staring straight ahead of him.

As they turned a corner, the wind carrying the sound of voices, Harry felt the air grow colder, if that was even possible. He felt his heart sink and his breathing quicken. Keeping close to the wall of the castle, he was able to see a fenced off area. At the sight, Harry's jaw dropped and he wasn't so sure he would be able to win anymore. There was a small clump of five or six Dementors standing around, their black robes tossing lightly in the wind.

"Dementors? _That's_ the first task? They're trying to kill us!"

"It's the Triwizard Tournament, Potter; they're trying to challenge you."

"Well, they're doing a great job of it."

"I thought you studied the Patronus Charm with Lupin last year."

"I did, but I haven't practiced since then."

"Perhaps you should practice another spell as well, Potter."

Harry turned back to the fenced area and saw that a few men were placing spells on four large wardrobes, most likely to keep it closed, because he assumed that inside each was a Boggart. Trudging around lazily was also a twelve foot tall troll. "Great. So it's either I get a good night's sleep or I practice to win."

"Which would you rather have?"

"The win," Harry replied, not even hesitating.

"Then I suggest you practice, Potter."

pHarry glanced at the Dementors gliding over the frozen ground once more, before walking away from the creatures with Snape. "Do the other champions know about this?"/p

"All but Diggory, I'm sure. The other headmasters would have told their students to give them the advantage."

"But then why _you_ showing me?"

"I owed Hagrid a small favor. Therefore he asked me to show you what the first task entailed," Snape responded, pulling the thick, black scarf closer to his neck. Harry nodded, knowing he wouldn't get any more out of him. The brisk air messed up his dark hair further.

When it was clear that Snape was going back to the train, Harry stopped and asked, "Where can I practice that I wouldn't disturb anyone?"

"The Dining Hall perhaps. Lunch ended just over an hour ago."

Nodding in response, Harry turned away to go towards the front doors of the Durmstrang castle. He went only a few feet when he heard Snape's voice distorted by the wind. "What was that?" he asked, turning towards him.

"You may get the spells wrong," Snape said once again, walking forward. "I'll monitor your practice session. You haven't practiced for quite some time."

As Harry trekked through the snow to the front of the school, hearing Snape crunching on the snow behind him, he was sure that Snape was only following him in order to torment him. Clearly he had nothing else to do on this gloomy evening.

The corridors were empty. The Dining Hall seemed almost eerie with no one present. With fewer torches than usual lit, shadows invaded every unlit space. Snape closed the doors behind them, and said, "Do you remember the spell for weakening a Boggart?"

"Riddikulus."

"Take out your wand and aim at the headmaster's chair."

"But that's across the entire room."

"What if your opponent is far away? You might as well attack from afar is you can help it. Closer means it's easier for you to attack, but it's also easier for them," Snape explained, sternly.

Harry gripped his wand, knowing that they weren't talking about Boggarts anymore.

The last time he had gone up against a Boggart, it had turned into a mirror image of him. What if his fears had changed? What if it turned into something else? Snape seemed to realize that he was having doubts, because he said, "No matter what it is, you have to be able to defeat it. Anything humorous will do, Potter, it just has to be funny to you."

Harry nodded, more to himself than to Snape. He stepped forward as he thrust his wand towards the chair, and said, "_Riddikulus!_"

A burst of white light shot forth from his wand and hit the center of the room. He hadn't put enough power into it to get it far enough.

"Try again," Snape said forcefully.

Harry cleared his throat and yelled the spell louder. The light went farther, but still didn't hit the chair. He sighed and, thinking of Blaise's jokes and the look on Uncle Vernon's face when he first saw Hagrid, and then he shouted, "_Riddikulus!_" The light seemed brighter this time. It hit the high-backed chair, sending it flying back against the wall. Luckily it didn't break or they would have to explain that to Karkaroff.

"Better, but it will be harder tomorrow when you face your fear."

"I know."

"Now for the hard part: The Patronus," Snape reminded him. "Remember, constant thoughts of powerful memories that are happy and cheerful."

"What should I aim at?"

Snape took his wand from his pocket and after a few flicks of his wrist there was a shadowy form of a Dementor in the center of the room. "You have to concentrate on the fact that tomorrow six will surround you; there presence is alluring in a dark, depressing way. They make you feel like all hope has gone from the world. They induce horrible memories."

Whether Snape had heard from Dumbledore that when around Dementors he heard the screaming of his mother, or whether it happened to him, Harry couldn't be sure. He gripped his wand tightly, thinking of the only memory had of his parents. He pictured them as clearly as he could in his mind's eye – his father's dark, messy hair, his mother's bright red hair and her warm smile.

"Ready?"

"Yes." Harry steadied himself, imagining six Dementors surrounding him, the cold, the misery, and the despair pressing in upon him, as he raised his wand and yelled, "_Expecto Patronum!"_ A ghostly specter in the form of a antlered creature went charging from the tip of his wand toward the fake Dementor.

"Good. Again," Snape said. "You can make it brighter and less indistinct."

"But you have to admit, that was pretty good after nearly a year of not using the spell."

"The day I admit that you do anything right is the day you become Minister of Magic."

Harry laughed. "One, I don't want to be Minister of Magic. And two, was that a joke? Did you just make a joke, Snape?"

"Get back to practicing, Potter. You want to win, don't you? Or would you rather have a French girl beat you?"

"Fine," Harry replied, turning away. He was still smirking.

"Was your happy thought strong enough?" Snape asked. "What was it?"

"I have this memory of my parents. I don't even know it its real. I remember them smiling at me."

Snape cleared his throat, as Harry readied himself once again. He took a few deep breaths and stared at the ethereal Dementor. "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" A bright stag went hurtling towards the cloaked figure.

He tried it a few more times to perfect his thoughts and his technique before Snape said that he felt he had done enough preparation for one night. "Except I only have this one night to practice," Harry retorted. "And I have no idea how I'm going to stop a troll."

"If you want to stay, be my guest. Just don't break anything."

But Harry followed Snape out of the Dining Hall and out of the castle. He didn't want to practice any longer. If he practiced alone he would start to worry too much.

"Do you think any of the other champions know the Patronus Charm?"

Snape stared straight ahead. "I doubt if Diggory or Delacour do, or if they could even master it, but I'm positive Krum was taught it. Whether he has mastered the spell is another story."

As they crunched on the cold snow beneath their feet, there was silence between them. Harry pulled his collar closer to around his neck, not wanting any cold air to get in. He was already shivering. They entered the train – it was pleasantly warm. Snape went to his bedroom door and began opening the door when Harry couldn't stop himself from asking the question weighing down on his mind.

"Why did you help me today? I know it was because of a favor. But why didn't you take Diggory along too? Why just me?"

"You're the only Slytherin champion, Potter. Maybe I want you to win." The way the torch in the corridor cast shadows across Snape's face, he could tell that he was lying. He opened the door all the way and disappeared into his dark room.

Harry went back to his room to find that Draco was now asleep. At first too many thoughts were running through his head, too many worries, to enable him to get sleep, but after two hours of watching the snow fall lightly upon the ground, he started to drift off…

_The room was lit by a dying fire, the embers growing faint in the stone fireplace. A high-backed chair was the only furniture in the dark room. It cast a long shadow across the wooded floor. He heard light footsteps, a rhythm._

_"How is it going?" a weak voice asked. It was barely above a whisper._

_"Very well, my lord," a familiar, grizzly voice responded._

_"I see you are still in costume."_

_"Yes, my lord, the potion stays for quite some time." When there was no response, the man added, "The first task is tomorrow, my lord."_

_"Make sure Potter succeeds at all costs."_

_"I will, my lord, I swear." The figure stood and went around the armchair. What Harry saw was the most frightening he had ever set eyes upon. A pale, oily figure, small enough to be a baby, was cocooned in bundles of blankets, it hands claw-like and its eyes blood red…_

Harry awoke to the sound of someone screaming, but when he heard Draco saying, "What is it? What is it?" he realized that it had been him. His forehead was sweaty and his hands were clammy. His legs were tied by his own blanket. He saw through the window that it was nearly dawn.

"Nothing. It was nothing." He saw Draco lay back down, and soon he was snoring again. But Harry knew that it had not been nothing.

The person who had placed his name in the Goblet was working for Voldemort. Not only was this person here at Durmstrang, but the person was trying to help him win and he was "costumed" by a potion. Harry knew immediately that Snape was not Snape. It was the perfect cover – being a Potions Master to get the ingredients to a certain potion that would transform him into someone else. Then he realized that he knew what that potion was: it was the Polyjuice Potion. He had read about it. However, he had never seen Snape drinking anything. He must be doing it in private. Of course he wouldn't want to arouse any suspicion.

And it made sense why Snape had helped him earlier that evening. He was helping him to please Voldemort. No wonder he had been lying about why he had done it. Clearly no one is supposed to know, least of all him. Well, Harry didn't want anyone's help. He would defeat the other champions and he would win on his own.

* * *

Harry could hear the roar of the crowds outside the tent that was flapping aggressively from the cold wind. He had tried sitting like Krum, whose face was somewhat red, but he couldn't get himself to relax, his nerves felt like someone was lighting a fire beneath them and he couldn't calm down. Fleur was running her fingers through her silvery hair nervously, her face alarmingly pale. Diggory was pacing back and forth just as he was. A small group of people entered the tent, and he was never less pleased to see Mr. Bagman. Dumbledore came over to stand between he and Diggory, while Karkaroff stood with Krum and Madame Maxime with Fleur.

"Gather round, gather round!" Mr. Bagman began, much too cheerfully for such an occasion. He was holding a small drawstring bag. "Now that the audience has gathered into the stands, you can find out in which order you'll be participating. But before you find out, let me just inform you that your goal is to get into the wardrobe and retrieve the wooden box. You'll know what I mean when you see it." He pulled open the bag and added, "Fleur is you would like to pick first."

She didn't nod or acknowledge him at all, she just stepped forward and reached in. She took out of something that looked like a playing card with a ghostly form of "2" hovering above. Fleur glanced quickly at Madame Maxime before walking away to stroke her hair once again. Krum went forward next, taking out a card that showed "1," while Diggory got a "3."

Harry heard Krum talking to Karkaroff in words he couldn't understand as he reached into the bag, knowing what was coming. He pulled out a card with a vaporous number "4." He would have to wait until the very end to try his hand at the task. He would rather have gone first to get it out of the way, but there was no trading at a game like this.

"When you hear the whistle, Mr. Krum, enter the enclosure outside the tent," Mr. Bagman explained, and then quickly walked out of the tent. Dumbledore wished Diggory and him good luck, giving them each a pat on the back and a squeeze of the shoulder. He wished his headmaster could have given them something else, like advice, but he knew Dumbledore couldn't do anything to help. The headmasters departed, and the champions were left to think about the impending first task on their own.

Diggory's face was turning a horrible shade of green, and he looked as if he were going to throw up. He sat himself down, taking a few deep breaths, as Krum began pacing near the entrance of the tent. They could all hear the thunderous talking and laughing of the people gathering to watch them either succeed or fail horribly in front of their eyes.

The whistle went off and Harry watched Krum hesitantly leave the tent. He heard the crowd erupt with applause, and then die down quickly. There were numerous loud gasps from the audience as Krum no doubt tried to get past the creatures. People shouted and yelled as they watched the first champion. Not being able to see Krum fight made it a lot harder to imagine what was going on. Was he winning, was he hurt? He came up with a million different versions for how the other champion was doing, as he slowly took a seat near the back of the tent, wanting to get as far away as possible. Each time the crowd screamed or cheered, Fleur nearly jumped out of her seat.

"That was an interesting move!" Bagman commentated. "Will he get past them? Oooh! Close one!"

After a long silence from the audience, where Harry could only imagine that Krum had died a horrible but valiant death by the Dementors, the crowd exploded with applause, whistles emanating from the people piercingly.

"Very nice, very nice! Now the judges score!" The people applauded once more. Harry would have liked to know what score he had gotten, but he probably wouldn't find out until they had all gone. "Now, Miss Delacour!"

Fleur stood up before her whistle went off. She took her wand from her ice blue robes and waited at the entrance until they all heard the piercing sound. Harry looked at Diggory, who seemed to have calmed down slightly. His face was still a slight greenish hue. His usually buoyant hair seemed flat and weighed down. The crowd gasped numerous times, much more for her than for Krum. He didn't hear much applause or cheer. She definitely wasn't doing as well.

"I'm not sure that was a good decision!" Bagman said.

At one point the crowd sighed dejectedly, as if maybe she had hurt herself or failed. Some people shrieked as Bagman said that it looked like she was going to try again. After a much longer time than Krum, the crowd applauded and she was given her unknown scores.

Diggory stood when his whistle was called. Harry wished him luck, but he didn't seem to hear him. Now he was all alone. There was nothing to distract him but the emotions of the crowd and his own trepidation.

Diggory was a lot quicker to get to the box than Fleur, though Harry would have been more content to wait just a little longer. He heard the crowd cheer and gasp and shriek. He heard Bagman say, "Oooh, narrow miss! He's certainly quick on his feet!" All too soon, the stands were erupting in applause, and all too soon he heard his name being called and the whistle going off.

Harry got up from his seat, his wand already gripped in his right hand, and exited the large tent. The first thing he saw was the two massive stands on either side of him that were being held numerous feet into the air by thick columns. There were rows upon rows of smiling, excited faces all looking down upon him, and he felt his face grow warm. The panel of judges, he saw, was on the top row of the stands to his right. The second thing Harry saw was the enclosure he had to enter: the walls were over fifteen feet high and seemed to be made of a gray vapor, but he couldn't see past them.

After taking a deep breath, he walked into the arched opening. At first he saw nothing, just a classroom-sized area of space covered in snow, but then standing near another archway was a twelve-foot tall troll. It was wearing ratty clothing on its broad shoulder and muscled arms, and was carrying a large, heavy-looking club. Staring at the tall creature, Harry thought that perhaps each champion only had to fight one of the three. It gave him some hope that maybe through the archway was the wardrobe with the box.

The troll grunted loudly and began charging straight for him, club raised menacingly in the air. Harry brandished his wand and yelled, "_Stupefy!_" The bright red flash hit the troll in the head. He blinked a few times in confusion, but then grunted again, this time angrier. Clearly, the Stunning Spell didn't work against trolls. Harry knew that trolls were generally unintelligent, but it was clear that this was one of the smart ones. Somehow it knew that he meant to hurt it and so it seemed to want to hurt him first.

"_Incarcerous!_"

Thick ropes shot out from the tip of his wand, but troll raised his club in front of his face, and the ropes tied themselves around the body of the crude weapon, making it even bulkier. The troll came at Harry so fast that he fell, tripping on his own feet. He heard the club swinging down at him, slicing the air, before he saw it. Harry moved out of the way just before the thick bat thumped brutally against the earth. He barely heard the crowd gasp above his own struggle for air.

Harry got to his feet. He knew he had to do something to stop the troll. It was clearly not as intelligent as a human. Maybe he could do something to distract it. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to make a copy of himself or reproduce the image of another troll with a wave of his wand. He searched through his pockets, hoping to find something, anything. All he had in his pocket was a piece of chocolate that had melted and re-solidified in a weird shape.

"Potter seems to be taking something from his pocket! What on earth is the young contestant doing?" he heard Bagman shout.

Harry threw it to the ground, seeing the dark candy clearly against the light snow. Thinking of a black rabbit, he pointed his wand and exclaimed, "_Fera Verto!"_ The piece of chocolate grew into the shape of a black, fluffy rabbit. It started sniffing at the place around it, before hopping off into the distance. The troll, now enamored by the little creature, followed it to the other side of the room, forgetting all about him.

_Now to the wardrobe,_ Harry thought agreeably. But as he entered the second room, he was very unpleasantly surprised. Immediately the feeling of hopelessness and despair grasped hold of him, taking root in his heart and his heart, and spreading through his veins to the rest of his body. The Dementors were enthralling in such a negative way that though his mind told him to run, his body wanted to get closer.

All of a sudden, Harry felt that he would never win the tournament, that he would be stuck in this room for all time, that he would die by the Dementor's Kiss. In the back of his mind he knew that he had to overcome this feeling. He gripped his wand tighter, as he heard Bagman say, "What will the young champion do? How will he get past the Dementors?"

"_Expecto Patro—!_" Harry couldn't get all the words out. The Dementors were gliding over to him, circling him now. He would never get out. He would never leave. He would die here with everyone watching. Harry fell to his knees. He couldn't feel the cold of the snow because his entire body already felted numbed.

Somewhere in the far back of his mind, he heard a woman screaming. The sound of her shrieks were growing louder and louder, and he knew that soon he would be with her – his mother. But as he thought that, Harry knew that he had to do this for her. He had to win.

Recalling his memory of speaking with his parents, he got to his feet. He could feel the Dementors all around him. Harry raised his wand and, seeing their smiles in his head, yelled, "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" A bright white image of a stag emerged form his wand, as the crowd cheered and whistled, and he guided the ghostly image towards all the Dementors. They glided quickly away from the stag, so Harry rounded them up on the other side of the enclosure, allowing him to go through the third archway.

Harry bent over, his hands on his knees, to catch his breath, and then went over to hesitantly open the wardrobe. He instinctively took a few steps back, knowing from experience that something was going to walk out. Sure enough, the door creaked open on its hinges and what walked out was what he had been hoping wouldn't happen. His Boggart was a likeness of himself, but it wasn't a mirror image, somehow it had changed and had become worse – it was the image he had seen his first year in the Mirror of Erised.

The crowd gasped when they saw Harry's older self step out. The image of him smiled a sinister smile, one that said he was experienced, knowing, and malicious. His hair was longer and unkempt, his eyes seemed a brighter green, and he was much taller. Among the gasps of the crowd, he could hear a few people laughing, as if the thought of his older self as his fear was amusing. It certainly was funny to him. And Harry realized that he couldn't think of a single hilarious thing. Nothing could combat against this version of himself.

The older Harry sauntered over to him and began circling young Harry slowly, looking him up and down as he shook his head, an amused expression on his face. "This certainly will not do," older Harry drawled. "It certainly will not do at all. You have no experience, you can't command anyone's attention, you aren't intelligent in the least. You will _never_ be anything. You will never be _me_." His older self snickered. The sound filled the area around them.

"I don't want to be like you," Harry murmured.

The young man, his long hair falling into his face, came close to Harry and whispered in his hear. "Yes, you do."

Harry felt his empty hand clench and his hand around his wand tighten. The color in his face grew. He had to defeat his older self. He had to get rid of him. He had to win the tournament.

With his wand pointing at his older self, who began to laugh, Harry yelled, "_Riddikulus!_" Suddenly, the older boy grabbed his throat as he began to hiccup. When he spoke the sound was high-pitched, like the voice of a young girl. "What have you done to me?" Harry smiled widely, as the crowd started to laugh. Older Harry looked around frightened as he hiccupped irritatingly.

With a quick flick of his wand, he added, "_Depulso!_" The flash hit the Boggart and it disappeared for good. The audience applauded him. But even though the image of him had gone, Harry knew that he hadn't truly defeated him. He wasn't sure he ever would.

Harry opened the doors to the wardrobe all the way and found a plain wooden box at the bottom. Bagman's booming voice said, "Excellent job! Potter finished even quicker than Fleur and Diggory! And who knew such a young man would know the Patronus Charm? Quite the surprise!" He picked up the box, placing it under his arm, and walked out of the final archway, where a small group of people rushed to greet him.

Dumbledore was waiting with a wide smile and sparkling eyes. "You did a great job, Harry," his headmaster remarked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Couldn't have done it better myself. I especially liked the rabbit idea."

McGonagall came up to him, smiling cheerfully, as she said, "Very well done, Mr. Potter. I'm pleased to see that you're putting your schoolwork to good use. You should see the healers before getting your score." Further back was Professor Moody and Professor Snape. The first looked genuinely pleased and gave him a nod as he passed, while Snape merely glanced at him, though he could have sworn he saw a hint of a smirk.

Harry was ushered into a smaller white tent, where he saw that the three other champions were being examined by healers. He sat down on an uncomfortable cot, putting the box beside him, as a white-robed healer examined his head for any injuries. Sitting a few feet away on another cot, he could see that Diggory had injured his hand, no doubt from the troll's club. Fleur was wrapped in a blanket, her face still pale. Krum, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. He waved to Harry from the other side of the tent.

The tent flapped open and a blond boy entered, his face paler than usual. Draco walked over to him slowly. He looked unsure of himself, but kept going nonetheless. He stopped right in front of him. "Err…I saw what you did out there. And I…I should have listened to what you told me. You'd be mad to willingly go up against _those_ creatures. The Dementors could've killed you!"

"And that troll tried to bash my head in," Harry added.

Draco shifted his footing, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Blaise, and even my father, told me to believe you. And they were right. I think someone else put your name in the Goblet."

"Finally, you come around to my side!"

"So…we're good? We're friends again?"

Harry nodded, a grin spreading across his features. "Of course."

Draco sighed in relief, smiling now. "Good because I was starting to go crazy. There's only so many letters I can write to Pansy."

"So what did the other champions do?"

Draco took a seat on the cot as well, glancing at the wooden box. "You were by far the best! At least in my opinion you were. Krum was a lot faster than you, but I think that's only because he got past the troll quicker. He conjured his own club and tried to fight it off. It worked for a bit, but then the troll got really angry, so he just ran into the next room. Cedric tried to Stun the troll a bunch of times, but his hand just ended up getting crushed. Fleur also distracted the troll, but it didn't work out nearly as well as yours did.

"Besides Fleur, you took the longest in the Dementor room. She got really scared and practically curled up into a ball. But with the cheering from the crowd, she eventually got up and made her way through them. She didn't really use any spells though. Only you and Krum used the Patronus Charm – that was magnificent by the way. Diggory tried Stunning the Dementors, but that didn't work. Then he used the Cheering Charm on himself, which worked since he got past.

"Fleur took way too long in the last room since the Boggart turned into the form of a dead little girl. I guess it was her sister or something. Krum's was a pile of broken broomsticks that he fixed. Diggory's was a large snake, which he turned into a rubber duck. Yours was definitely the most interesting, but you got rid of it pretty quickly."

"Didn't seem like it to me," Harry replied.

"You were the one facing it." Draco stood up. "C'mon lets go see your score."

The panel of judges were back in their seats. Harry watched as Dumbledore shot something that looked like a silver ribbon above his head. It formed the number nine. Beside him, Madame Maxime raised her wand and her ribbon formed the figure of an eight. Mr. Bagman went next, and his turned into a number ten. Beside Draco said, "Wow, a ten!" Mr. Crouch gave him a silvery nine. Karkaroff flicked his wand. The ribbon turned into a number five.

"A five?" Draco asked. "He gave Krum a ten! He just doesn't want his champion's best competition to win."

The final scores went up. Krum: 41, Fleur: 32, Diggory: 37, Potter: 41.

"You tied with Krum! It must have been Bagman's score that helped, or the fact that both Crouch and Bagman only gave him a seven. You might actually win this, Harry."

"I hope I do." Harry couldn't help but smile. He might actually be able to do this. He had overcome the first task, who's to say he couldn't overcome the second and the third?

"Potter! We need you back in the champions' tent!" Bagman called. Draco said he would meet him back in the compartment, before he walked back to place where he had felt such anxiety.

"Since you're all here now, let me first say that you all did a splendid job today!" Ludo Bagman explained, his face lighting up with excitement, "The second thing I have to say is about the second task. You have a considerable break when the games continue on the 24th of February. I'm sure you've all noticed the box you had to collect. Within the box you'll find a clue. Solve it and you'll be able to prepare for the next task. Well, good luck!"

Harry walked back to the Hogwarts Express, feeling that the day had come together remarkably well. He felt lighter than air. Not only did he tie for first in the tournament with Krum, but he had his best friend back. A incredible weight had been lifted from his shoulders now. He wasn't alone anymore – he could talk to Draco about his worries and his problems again.

Draco was waiting for him in the compartment, a game of Exploding Snap ready to be played. There was a Chocolate Frog in the spot where he would sit. Harry knew it was his friend's way of saying sorry. Yes, this day hadn't been all bad.

------

**A/N:** If you think all things are cheery between Harry and Draco, think again! In less than a month (in the story), something else will tear them apart, and it didn't happen in canon, so you'll really get a surprise!

This has nothing to do with the story, but holy crap I'm going to be turning twenty on Monday! The end of one decade and the beginning of another!

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* * *

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Preview of Chapter 17—Liar (It Takes One to Know One):

Harry tells Draco and Sirius about his mysterious dream; a letter arrives from Hagrid, and he is forced into the start of a never-ending game of cruel, spiteful tricks...


	17. Liar It Takes One to Know One

"Liar (liar), if we're keeping score, we're all choir boys at best (intrusive and arrogant)."

-Liar (It Takes One to Know One) by Taking Back Sunday

**17**

**Liar (It Takes One to Know One)**

Sitting between the two beds, their backs resting against the trunks hidden beneath, Harry and Draco played Exploding Snap well into the night as a celebration for Harry's victory. Draco took out some chocolate his mother had sent him a few weeks back. They laughed with their mouths full as Draco mimicked Fleur when she was frightened of the Dementors. And later they pretended to be Krum and the troll, both of them grunting loudly, as they pretended that their wands were clubs.

"Do you remember during the Dueling Club when Davies' spell backfired and he got boils all over his face?" Harry asked. "I thought I was going to die of laughter!"

"Weasley could barely beat that little kid!" Draco pointed out, snickering. "But speaking of Weasley, you said that you got into a fight with him. What was that about?"

"I haven't told you, and I know I should have, but I've been talking to Sirius while he's in Azkaban. No one knows." Harry saw Draco's mouth drop slightly in surprise. "Anyway, I didn't tell him that I was a champion because I didn't want him to worry about me. He's stuck in a cell, so there's not much for him to do but think, right? So I was talking to him via Two-Way Mirror in the Interchangeable Room, and Weasley overheard us. He told Granger and she figured out from what I said that I hadn't told Sirius I was a champion, so they sent him a letter.

"I just got so angry at that. They had no right to send my godfather a letter. Obviously they weren't going to ask me since they hate me, but they shouldn't have done it in the first place," Harry explained. "Now that he knows he'll probably be wondering if I'm dead half the time he's awake."

"First, how the hell did you get a Two-Way Mirror past security?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled. "I had it changed into a piece of parchment to make it seem like it was just extra blank paper along with the letter."

"Brilliant! But why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess it was because I thought you would think it was stupid that I wanted to talk to him."

"Why would I think it's stupid?" Draco asked, unwrapping another piece of chocolate. "Harry, he's the closest thing you have to a family member, besides me of course; I understand why you would want to have a relationship with your own godfather. I would never think that's stupid. It's just dangerous because everyone still thinks he's a murderer, and if the Ministry found out that you had given him something like a mirror, they'd most likely arrest you too. But at least you'd be together!"

"Oh, shut up!"

"Now I understand why you got into a fight with Weasley. That blood traitor never should have stuck his filthy nose in your business."

"I have to tell you something else," Harry murmured.

"Oh no. Don't tell me you're actually best pals with Snape! I don't think I could handle that kind of news."

"No, not at all. I'd rather kill myself than be called his friend. But it does involve Snape, oddly enough. Last night I had a really odd dream. I was in an old room and there's was only a high-backed chair and a lit fireplace. The person in the armchair mentioned that the other man in the room was still in costume. And then the man who was kneeling mentioned that the first task was the next day, and the person in the armchair said that, 'Make sure Potter succeeds at all costs.' The other man said, 'I will, my lord, I swear.' Then the man got up and looked into the chair, and I saw the most disgusting thing – it was in the shape of a baby, but it had claws instead of hands and red eyes," Harry explained, looking down at the cards at his feet. "Draco, the person he was talking to was Voldemort."

"You think this dream actually happened? Like you were seeing into Voldemort's life or something?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I think."

"But then who's the person that was talking to him?"

"I think someone is pretending to be Snape. He's the perfect disguise. We both know he's a Death Eater. And last night before I had the dream he showed me what I was up against, saying that he owed Hagrid a favor, and then he wanted to help me practice. Only a person who wants me to succeed would do all that to help me win."

"By how is he costumed? How could someone pretend to be Snape?"

"I think whoever it is, is taking Polyjuice Potion. That's the only thing I could think of. But clearly the person didn't do their homework because he should've figured out that Snape and I aren't close at all."

"Death Eaters make mistakes like the rest of us," Draco joked, and they both laughed.

"But what I don't understand is why Voldemort wants me to win the tournament. What can it have to do with him?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. It seems weird that Voldemort would care about something as trivial as a tournament at a school, even if it does concern you."

"It's just that you'd think he'd want me to lose, not win."

But Draco merely shrugged, clearly as much at a loss as he was. They played Exploding Snap until it was nearly two in the morning, and then went to sleep, though Harry was plagued by reminders of someone pretending to be a friend to him.

* * *

A few days later, as snow fell heavily upon the castle grounds, Harry stayed in the compartment while Draco went to lunch to see if he could figure out what the clue inside the box was. He pulled his trunk out from his under his bed and took the plain wooden box out from underneath a few robes. Immediately he saw that there was a keyhole, but he hadn't been given a key.

Harry grabbed the key that Draco had given him that could unlock doors, and put it into the keyhole, hoping that the top would pop open. But although the key altered itself for the lock, the box wouldn't open.

"Open says me!" Harry exclaimed at the box, but still nothing happened. He banged his fists on it, but it wouldn't budge. He then pulled out his wand. "_Alohomora!_" Still nothing happened. Running back to his trunk, he pulled out the small books of spells from Granger and began searching through the pages. He found a spell that opened chests and pointed his wand at the box once again. "_Cistem Aperio!_" When nothing happened again, he threw the book into the trunk and kicked it shut. He would never open that stupid wooden box.

Harry sat on his bed, deciding he could use some advice on how to get the clue. Reaching under his pillow he pulled out the Two-Way Mirror. It showed nothing, only his own reflection until he spoke, "Sirius."

"Hello, Harry. How was the first task?"

"A lot harder than I thought it would be. I had to battle a troll, six Dementors, and a Boggart to get to a box that won't open."

"I called your name the night before the task, but I guess you weren't there."

"I was practicing some spells."

"I figured you were."

"Sirius, remember when we were talking about who might've put my name in the Goblet? Well, I think I might have figured it out." Harry told him about the dream and that Snape had helped him the night before the first task.

"Pretending to be Snape would be a smart move. He was a Death Eater and yet he's close to Dumbledore. This person would be able to get a lot of information for Voldemort. I'm glad that you were able to see the connection, Harry," Sirius replied. "But I wonder why Voldemort would be interested in the tournament and why he would want you to win. If you told me he wanted you to die in the games, then I'd be more willing to believe that."

"Me too. Believe me, I have no idea why he wants me to make it to the end."

"No doubt he wants to get his own hands on you," Sirius remarked forlornly.

There was a part of Harry that hoped that wasn't so. He remembered when Voldemort had spoken to him about ambition and thirst, an unquenchable thirst they both had. Voldemort had promised him many things, which if Harry joined his ranks, he would get. But to make it there, he would have to succeed in the Triwizard Tournament. Perhaps Voldemort had figured that out as well.

"What was it you said about a box that won't open?" Sirius asked.

"It holds the clue to my next task, but I can't get it to unlock."

"Some things don't comply with force; some things need a little patience. I'm sure with some thought you'll get it to open."

Harry hoped so, too. At least he had about three months until the next task. He had time to figure it out.

* * *

A recent blizzard had covered the entire small castle and its extensive grounds in several feet of thick snow, and so going back and forth to the train and ship for the guests was getting more difficult each day. Headmaster Karkaroff assigned two fireplaces on the first floor to travel directly to the Hogwarts Express and Beauxbatons Ship. In the Interchangeable Room was a fireplace for easy access to the castle.

A few weeks after the first task and Harry still hadn't been able to open the chest. He threw down some Floo Powder and entered the castle, carrying the box under his arm, to check out some books in the Durmstrang library. He had discovered it on the fourth floor only a few days after the task. It wasn't as large as the library at Hogwarts, but there was no Restricted Section – everything was available for the students to use, even the Dark Arts material.

Harry set down the box on a table near the back of the room, where he could get some privacy, and started collecting books of spells and books where the title suggested it might help him unlock the small chest. _Spells to Unlock Doors, The Big Book of Magical Devices, How to Open a Door With Only a Flick!, The Key to Unlocking a Woman's Heart_. He wasn't so sure the last would help.

Setting down the pile of books, he stared at the box and knew instantly that whatever he found in the volumes wouldn't work. This box was a part of the Triwizard Tournament, so figuring out how to open it was going to be just as challenging as going up against the troll. No doubt whatever opened this box would somehow be a clue to the next task, as well as what he found inside it. He just didn't know what that initial clue was.

Harry turned it upside down, partly hoping it would open but partly hoping that the next task didn't involve being suspended by his feet. He thought of Filch's chains and a shiver ran down his spine. It didn't fall open, much to his relief. Then an unpleasant occurred to him: maybe they were going to lock him in a box or something and he would have to figure how to open it. He told himself that was completely ridiculous.

After watching the box with hands propped under his chin for nearly a half-hour, he got up, taking the mysterious thing with him, and went towards the fireplace on the first floor to put the box away before dinner. Turning the box around in his hands, he turned a corner on the third floor, and nearly ran into Snape. The man seemed to walking towards the fourth floor, but, of course, he still had time to stop and torment him.

"Still haven't figure it out yet, I see." A smirk appeared on his pale face.

"If you think I want your help, you're wrong," Harry replied. He remembered that his man was not Snape, and remembered that he wanted to win of his own accord. "I don't want your help. I can do this on my own. Why don't you just stay away from me?"

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Snape looking utterly bewildered. But Harry wasn't going to be fooled. That man was not Snape, however much he taunted him like the professor he knew. Snape would never have offered him help the day before the first task; he would have sneered at him and turned away, leaving him to fend for himself.

Once in his compartment, he put the box back into his trunk, and turned to see that a small brown owl was waiting on his bed, a note tied to its leg. He unfolded the yellowed parchment and read the large, untidy writing.

_Harry,_

_I hope you're doing okay. I heard, of course, that you're a fourth champion, and I also heard that you tied for first in the first task. That's great, Harry! I don't know if Snape kept his word or not, but I hope he brought you to see what you were up against for the first task. I know the man in charge of taking care of the trolls, and I wanted you to know about them. The other headmasters probably told their champions, and though I don't encourage cheating, I didn't want you to be hurt from not knowing._

_Professor Dumbledore told me that each champion has to figure out how to open a box with a clue in it. He didn't tell me how or what was inside, so don't even ask. However, I know you'll understand how the box works before the others. You're a smart kid, Harry, and you're very determined._

_Good luck,_

_Hagrid._

Harry didn't know what to think anymore. Was Snape actually himself or wasn't he? So it was true what he had said that night: he i_did_/i owe Hagrid a favor. He wanted to believe that someone was pretending to be Snape because it would mean that the man he despised was actually somewhere else, because he wouldn't have to keep wondering who had put his name in the Goblet, and finally because he could blame all his troubles on him for initially making him a champion. But he had to accept the fact that another person wouldn't know about an owed favor. Only the real person would.

This meant that Snape was indeed Snape and that he had no idea, once again, who was helping him win the Triwizard Tournament for Voldemort. For a moment, he thought of going to Dumbledore and telling him about the dream. But his headmaster would most likely consider "just a dream." He probably would too if it hadn't too been so vivid, so undeniably real. He had felt as if he had been there, watching in the shadows. No, he would do this on his own. All of it – the Tournament and discovering who the Death Eater helping him was.

Harry got out of a new piece of parchment, getting out his quill and ink.

_Hagrid,_

_Thanks for the encouragement! I hope I figure out how to open the box, too. So far the outcome of the second task won't fare so well since I can't get the thing to unlock. But I'm trying very hard to figure it out._

_Yes, Snape showed me the trolls, Dementors, and Boggarts. Unfortunately, he revealed all that to me the night before, so I had very little time to practice, though I admit I did quite well. He said that he owed you a favor. I didn't believe him at first, but from your letter I see that he wasn't lying._

_I hope everything is going well with you._

_Harry._

After tying the note to the unfamiliar owl, Harry made his way to the Interchangeable Room. He stopped when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around slowly, but saw no one there. Thinking it was his imagination, he used the fireplace to enter the castle and get a warm meal.

The Dining Hall was overly crowded as usual. There were too many people than the dimensions of the room should handle, making the sounds bounce off of each other and instead of the walls. Draco was sitting beside Adrian Pucey and an empty seat, so Harry took it and began pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. As he was scooping mashed potatoes onto his empty plate, Pucey and Higgs, who was sitting next to his friend, started asking him questions about the tournament.

"So have you figured out the box yet?" Pucey asked, leaning forward to look around Draco.

"No, not yet."

"I heard that Krum is close to figuring it out."

"Do you know what he's ruled out? I tried magical keys and spells, and so far nothing."

"No, I don't know what he's done."

"Have you tried potions?" Higgs asked, his blond hair coming into view as he leaned forward.

Harry shook his head, his mouth full. When his food was thoroughly chewed, he asked, "What kind of potion?"

Before Higgs could respond, Pucey interjected with, "Maybe some sort of acid-like potion that would seep through the lock."

"What if he destroys the object inside? Then he'd never figure out the next task," Higgs replied.

"Oh, right," Pucey said, sitting back.

"What was it you were going to say about potions?" Harry asked.

"I was also going to say that you should break through the lock using a potion, but then I reconsidered. If you harmed the clue inside then you wouldn't be able to find out what you have to do for the second task, and—"

"—you'd be screwed, to be it nicely," Pucey finished.

"Okay, no acidic potions to open the box, then."

"Wise decision," someone said in passing. Harry turned in his seat and saw Professor Moody making his way towards his seat at the Staff Table. He smiled as his feet clunked loudly on the marble floor.

"Can I ask you two something?" Harry said to the older boys. Draco turned to look at him as well. "Are the other students still mad at me? Do they still think I put my own name in?"

"Honestly? Yes, they do," explained Pucey. "But since the first task, it's kind of blown over. They went from talking about you and the Goblet to you and the Dementors." He shrugged slightly and added, "You're quite the main topic of conversation, Potter."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that," Harry said bitterly, looking down at his plate. As he moved his carrots around he felt eyes on him and looked up at the professor's table to see that Mad-Eye Moody was looking at him. He raised his glass and gave him a nod of his head, before joining a conversation between Dumbledore and McGonagall. His electric blue eye lingered on him a few seconds longer than his normal eye. Harry turned away, thinking nothing of it.

After a long dinner, in which Harry decided less people were glaring at him than previous weeks, most of the Hogwarts students left the Dining Hall together. They traveled one at a time by Floo Powder into the Interchangeable Room. Harry saw Granger enter the fireplace alone, books held under her arm. He was pleased that he hadn't been shunned from passing through the fireplace with everyone else. A bunch of students left the room, Harry and Draco walking behind them as they made their way back to their compartment.

Harry was looking forward to a good night's sleep. The puzzling wooden box was starting to give him a headache and he didn't want to deal with it anymore. But when he heard a girl gasp loudly and when he felt the group in front of him begin to push back, he knew something was wrong. This evening would not go as planned. But then again nothing ever did.

"What? What is it?" someone behind him asked.

And then the smell hit them. With the doors to the Interchangeable Room open, a breeze swept through the corridor and the awful smell of a Dungbomb made its way to the group of Hogwarts students. In such a confined space, the stench was unbelievably potent. The students covered their noses with their hands, most moving back into the Interchangeable Room. Harry stayed near the door, wondering what had happened. Through the crowd he could see the gray-stained floor of where the bomb had gone off. Unfortunately, it was right in front of his compartment.

Harry groaned, seeing that his evening really was ruined, and turned to tell Draco that it was in front of their room. Draco didn't take it too well.

"Of course it would be in front of our room!" Draco exclaimed.

"No doubt it was because of me," Harry said. "And I believe I know who did it."

Harry turned towards the Interchangeable Room to see Professor Dumbledore walking gracefully through the crowd. In the section of the group that parted for the headmaster, he saw Granger standing beside Weasley, his hands in his robe pockets. Where had he come from?

Dumbledore gently covered his nose with his hand as he walked over to the compartment door. He took out his long wand and with a quick flourish the black smudges on the floor and on the walls, and the small cloud of dust in the air, had disappeared, but a remnant of the stench remained.

Dumbledore turned toward the group of students, his long beard trailing down his front and his glasses falling down the curve of his nose. "If you would all please go into your separate compartments." The crowd began to move, their feet and mouths starting to move. As Harry took a few steps, Dumbledore said, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, please wait for me at the fireplace."

Draco shrugged and moved away to their compartment. Harry entered the now empty Interchangeable Room, save for a red-haired boy who he despised and who despised him back. No doubt it had been Weasley who had set off the Dungbomb. Clearly he hadn't given himself enough time to get away. Clearly he just wasn't smart enough to get away with it.

Headmaster Dumbledore walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few strides. Before he could say a word, Weasley started, "Professor, you can't just assume it was me because of the fight."

"And who else is it supposed to be?" Harry asked angrily.

"It could've been any number of people," Weasley told Harry. "Everyone hates you."

"Mr. Weasley, where were you this evening?" Dumbledore asked. "Were you at dinner?"

"Er…no, I wasn't. I was actually taking a nap."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"I knew that Hermione was going to come in to get me to study with her, so I pretended to be asleep when she walked in. But then I actually did fall asleep."

"So no one actually knew where you were for about an hour?" Harry added, it was more a statement than a question. He could feel his face growing red.

"Why would I set off a Dungbomb?"

"Because I punched you in the face! Because of some sort of revenge! I don't know!" Harry exclaimed.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, lifting a hand to silence him. "Mr. Weasley, could you take your hands out of your pockets."

"I don't see why I need to."

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment. He merely glanced at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Mr. Weasley, may I see your hands?

Weasley seemed to hesitate for a moment. His cheeks flushed and his ears went red. But he pulled his hands from his pockets and all could see that the tips of his fingers were stained black. It had been him, and he hadn't been smart enough to get away with it.

"I'll be informing Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore explained, stepping towards the fireplace. "She'll meet you at your room, Mr. Weasley." There was a flash of green flames and Professor Dumbledore had gone.

"You're a bloody liar!" Weasley exclaimed.

"I'm the liar? You just pretended you hadn't put a Dungbomb in front of my room!"

"You lied to the world about our fight! You made it look like you were the poor, sad victim and I'd just come out of nowhere and hit you, when we both know you came after me because we told Black that you're a champion." Weasley's face was bright red from anger and irritation. "_You_ are the liar, Potter!"

The crimson-haired boy gave him a piercing glare, and then walked away, opening the door without a sound. But before he had left the room, Harry added, "This isn't over, Weasley."/p

"Of course it isn't over. It has only just begun."

**A/N: **Thanks for the birthday wishes! I hope you all have been enjoying your summer/winter, depending on where you are. I've been writing, but I'll have to do it much quicker because the updates are coming up faster than I can write. I'll have to start watching less of _Robin Hood_ and _Merlin_!

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Preview of Chapter 18—Whispers in the Wind:

With the help of Draco, Harry decides what to do to Weasley as revenge; he gets a second letter from Parkinson, and he overhears an interesting conversation between two professors…


	18. Whispers in the Wind

"Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!"

-A.A. Milne

**18**

**Whispers in the Wind**

In the morning before Transfiguration/Charms class, Harry sat at the edge of his bed, holding the mysterious box in his hands, as Draco got dressed. The window in their compartment showed that it was snowing lightly outside, as it had done nearly every day so far into the beginning of December. He could hear other compartment doors closing and the shuffling of feet out in the corridor. People were making their way to the castle to get breakfast, and the thought made his stomach growl with hunger.

"You know, you really ought to figure out that box," Draco said, sitting on his bed to tie his shoes.

"If you have any ideas for me, let me know. Believe me, I've been trying and this damn thing just won't open."

"Maybe you should try slamming it against the wall," Draco joked.

"I'd probably end up breaking the wall, not the box," Harry replied, and they both laughed.

The two boys traveled to the small castle and after a warm, hearty breakfast, in which Harry spotted Weasley glaring at him, they went to class. It didn't help that Weasley was in the class with him, but at least they learned an interesting spell.

Professor McGonagall, dressed in gray robes, stood in the front of the class of fourth and fifth years, saying that they would be learning the Reductor Curse. "It can be quite a strong curse when used effectively, as it can either blast an object out of one's way or even go so far as to destroy that very object. It should therefore not be used on other witches and wizards, for obvious reasons," she explained. "I'm sure you all noticed the block of wood in front of you. You will be using the spell on the wood, and nothing else. I would rather not have this classroom blown to pieces."

The bun-wearing woman took her wand from her pocket. "Say the spell with me first: Reducto!"

"Reducto!" the class shouted in unison.

"Watch how the spell can be applied," McGonagall added, pointing her wand at a block of wood on the desk in front of her. "_Reducto!_" If Harry didn't know better, he would have guessed that a strong gust of wind had blasted the wood off the desk, hitting one of the side walls. A few students gasped at the quick movement, and then again at the sound of the block striking the wall. McGonagall went over and picked it up from the floor.

"The other way to use this spell is not something that can be done with a sound mind. It's usually done in a hurry or out of anger and frustration. But I'll demonstrate it for you." She put the block on the floor near her desk. Harry glanced quickly at Draco, who shrugged. It was clear that the block of wood was not going to end up as it was now.

"_REDUCTO!_" Harry leaned forward in his seat to see the square piece of wood, but the next moment it exploded, small pieces and shards flying out around the spot where it had once been. He gasped with the rest of the class at the sudden blast of wood.

There was a moment of silent awe, as Harry thought about the fact that such a simple spell could have that effect with the right state of mind, and then McGonagall said, "Wands out!" She passed by the desk he was sitting at and he heard her say, under her breath, "i_Do your worst_/i." He smirked slightly at the comment, pointing his wand at the block.

As he attempted the spell for the first time, a few blocks of wood flew across the room. One hit the wall, one slammed into the leg of McGonagall's desk, and another knocked in McLaggen's chest, causing him to bend forward in pain.

"Careful!" McGonagall shouted.

"_Reduc—!_" Harry exclaimed as a girl shouted, "Watch your head!"

He turned towards the sound of the voice, but all he saw was a block of wood aiming straight for his head. With only a second before it knocked him unconscious, he lifted his wand and yelled, "_Immobulus!"_ The wood stopped, immobile, in the air, but when Harry dropped his wand to his side, it fell to the floor.

"Sorry!" the girl said genuinely, regret clear in her voice.

Harry saw a girl with porcelain skin and long, flowing black hair. He just smiled in response and turned away, feeling skin on his face go red. He tried the spell again and since he was able to say the complete word, he managed to slide the block across the surface of the table. Beside him, Draco wasn't faring quite as well, and could barely get the wood to shake.

"What am I doing wrong?" the blond-haired boy asked.

Harry shrugged at first, but then added, "Try flourishing your wand and then pointing at the last second."

They tried the spell together, doing as Harry had said, and sure enough both pieces of wood zoomed across the room. Apparently Harry's had more force because a corner of the wood got lodged in the wall, much to McGonagall's displease. He just shrugged as Draco laughed.

By the time the class had finished there were three blocks of wood stuck in the walls of the classroom and two had been blown to bits. Surprisingly, Susan Bones had been one of the people to blow apart her block, and not surprisingly the other was Weasley. After he had done it, he turned in his seat to glance at Harry, as if to communicate that he wished the block had been him instead. Harry wouldn't want to admit it, but a shiver had run down his spine at the icy glare.

With some time before lunch, he and Draco walked the corridors of the castle, a bag slung over both of their shoulders. They passed a group of boys standing in a small alcove of the hall, talking loudly in Bulgarian. Harry knew that if they were Muggles they would each be holding a fag, the smoke swirling above their heads, but he knew that none of them had probably ever heard of cigarettes. Draco turned a corner and Harry followed. The next hall was empty and silent.

"So…what do you want do to him?" Draco inquired, his interest clearly piqued.

"Nothing too bad."

"Why the hell not?"

"He'd probably jump at the chance to do something awful to you."

"I'm not gonna do anything bad right now because I'm going to wait until later," Harry said. "It's called waiting because the tricks will escalate, and then I can do something really bad."

"I can't participate in anything that involves dismembered limbs," Draco said, somewhat joking. But Harry saw the slight disgust on his face.

"I'm not gonna go that far."

"That's what they always so _now_."

Harry laughed. An idea struck him. "You don't happen to have any fireworks, do you?"

"No, but I can get one," Draco said, leaning his back against the wall. "Do you want one of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks?"

"That'd be great!" Harry exclaimed. Something without heat was even better. He knew exactly how he was going to set the prank up. Now he would just have to think of alibi and how he was actually going to put it together without anyone seeing him. He was definitely going to use his Invisibility Cloak. So the problem wasn't being seen, it was _not_ being seen, it was the fact that for some time he would be missing.

"Can you get me something to make me throw-up?" Harry asked.

"Why?"

"Trust me, I'll need it if I don't want to get caught."

"Yeah sure. I'll get you a Puking Pill*. You eat it and it makes you throw up a few minutes later," Draco explained. "So how did you know it was Weasley you put the Dungbomb in front of our room before you saw his hands?"

"Who else would have Dungbombs, but the Weasley twins? There's nowhere else he could've gotten it from."

Draco nodded. "That's true. They always pull pranks. No doubt Weasley will get more stuff from his brothers, so we're going to have to be smart about this. But we're a hell of a lot smarter than that blood traitor."

Harry agreed – they were a lot smarter than the red-head, and he had no doubt he could get away with this. As soon as the firework and the Puking Pill arrived, he would even the score between Weasley and himself.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning to unusually sunny skies. In through the window came warm orange light that rested nicely across the folds of his blanket and across the slight crevices of the room. He hadn't seen real sunlight in what felt like a long time. He sat up in bed, turning to see that Draco was still asleep. His watch said that it was just after nine on this Saturday morning.

He reached under his bed to pull out his trunk, with some difficulty, since he was too lazy to actually get out from beneath the covers. He didn't want his feet to touch the cool floor. Opening the lid, he took out the wooden box for the next task. In the light, he could see the miniscule imperfections of the box, and the wood itself seemed to take on a more orangey color. He wondered if that was a clue, but then he realized that every piece of wood was like that. He would never get this box to open.

After a few moments of simply staring that the box, there was a light tapping on the window. Harry turned quickly, slightly startled by the sound, and saw a brown owl flying outside the train. He opened the small part of the window that opened at the top, which opened outwards. The small creature flew in, as well as a gust of cold air.

Unfolding the parchment, he saw familiar curly handwriting, but wasn't immediately sure who it was from.

_Harry,_

_I hope you've been well. I heard from Draco that you did really well in the first task. Congrats on tying for first. I thought I would let you know that I've been allowed to come over to Durmstrang castle for part of Christmas break. I'll be arriving December 21st for a week's stay, so until December 28th. My father informed me that I'll be sleeping in the train with the other Hogwarts students, so I won't be far away for long. We should catch up when I arrive._

_See you soon,_

_Pansy Parkinson._

_P.S.—Draco has no idea I'm coming to the school. I thought I would surprise him, so don't tell him._

Harry's mouth opened slightly at the contents of the letter. He was baffled that Dumbledore and Karkaroff would allow Parkinson to visit when she hadn't been chosen to accompany the champions months ago. He supposed that her father must have a lot of money and influence. There was no other reason he could think of.

But he wondered why she had sent him a letter in the first place. If she didn't want Draco to know she was coming, then that was fine. But why tell him? He could have been left in the dark as well. They weren't friends; they barely even knew each other. And he had no intention of being her friend.

Suddenly, he remembered the moment when she kissed his cheek after they had danced. He remembered how she looked – the ice blue dress that had made her skin look velvety smooth. But he knew that she was Draco's girlfriend, and so he blocked the thought from his mind.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to write a reply, but he knew he should at least acknowledge that he got her letter, so he got out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a simple response:

_It's nice of you to visit Draco here at Durmstrang castle. I'm sure he'll appreciate the gesture. I won't tell him you're coming._

_Harry Potter._

He sent the letter with the owl and closed the window with a snap. Draco woke at the sound. The blond boy turned over under his blanket, the sound of his yawn filling the room. He must have seen the box because he asked, "Any improvements?"

"No, none at all."

"By the way, we should be getting our order either tomorrow or Monday."

"Good," Harry said, pulling the covers off of his legs and stepping onto the cool floor. "Thanks for ordering it for me."

Draco shrugged, also getting out of bed. "No big deal. What do you want to do today? You're not going to try opening the box again, are you?"

"No. I need a break from it. I'm starting to hope it will open on its own."

"You still have over two months to figure it out."

"I'll definitely need the two months," Harry replied, grabbing the handle of his trunk and pulling it out from under his bed. As he covered the box with a robe, he added, "You know what we haven't done in a long time?"

Draco's stomach growled. "Eat?"

Harry looked over at him: he had his trousers on, but only one arm was in the sleeve of his collared shirt, and his hair was untidy. "No. We haven't changed into our Animagus forms in quite a while."

"I'll join you, after breakfast, that is."

The two boys dressed in their black robe, the Hogwarts emblem showing on their upper chest, and they made their way towards the Interchangeable Room. Harry was still not used to seeing the school crest. He always imagined he would look down and see the green snake of Slytherin. Perhaps it was simply because his wearing the emblem meant he was considered the same as Weasley and Granger, whereas the Slytherin insignia meant he was different.

The Dining Hall was practically empty since most of the students were still sleeping, but the bright light shone into the large room, and seemed to occupy the rest of the space. Only a few Durmstrang teachers and Dumbledore were awake and eating. Harry sat down at one of the round tables and was happy to see that neither Weasley nor Granger was around. He ate his breakfast without being glared at.

They left after their warm breakfast and Harry saw a student in blood-red robes go outside through the main doors. The wind had blown in some snow that littered the ground around the entranceway, the warm temperature inside turning it to water. Draco pulled open one of the doors, and they saw that more students were outside. There was a group throwing snowballs at each other. He could hear their laughs echoing towards them. He recognized some of the people from the Dueling Club since it were students from all three schools. But clearly the Beauxbatons students were used to the cold because they were visibly shivering in their thin, satin uniforms.

Further down the grounds, he saw a small group making figures out of snow, though instead of using their hands they were employing their wands. One boy from Beauxbatons was creating the figure of a centaur, while a Durmstrang girl made a unicorn. Harry was highly impressed when he noticed that Johnson, Spinnet, Krum, Laurent, and Borisov were building an igloo. He nudged Draco to show him the small structure of glistening ice.

The air itself seemed frozen and the breezes cut right through their clothes, chilling their skin. The sunlight helped to warm them slightly, but even the sun wasn't as powerful as the wind in winter. Harry and Draco moved around the corner of the building, not wanting anyone to see them transform. They didn't need their wands to change anymore, much to their delight, and after closing their eyes they're bodies transformed.

With black fur covering his entire body, Harry could barely feel the chilly wind. It wasn't as cold outside; in fact it was almost pleasant. It was only his paws that felt the icy snow underfoot. Beside him, the white fox seemed to blend into the landscape. The black wolf leaped toward the fox, pushing him into the snow. The fox growled in a low tone at him and shook off the snow. Harry turned to look around the corner of the castle, but his vision blurred and all he saw was white. He was covered in snow now and the fox seemed to be laughing, though it sounded more like high-pitched rumble. After Harry shook off the snow, they explored the grounds, keeping away from the other students so as not to frighten them.

The grounds were indeed as expansive as they had been told. As they pawed their way through the snow, moving away from the castle, they came towards a slight downward slope. At the topmost part of the slope, the wolf and fox saw that the snow-covered terrain went on for miles and not far off from where they were was a large forest of tall, thickly-clumped trees. After the first few trees he couldn't see into it at all.

Draco barked and Harry turned to see that the white fox had begun to walk back. The wolf circled back towards the castle, but after a few steps the slow pace turned into a sprint and then into a run. He passed Draco, the air rustling his fur. Harry heard the crunches on snow of the fox following behind him.

They ran around the Quidditch pitch, huffing and barking as they went. Circling back towards the castle, Harry slowed, his fur-covered legs growing tired, but Draco kept going at the same quickened pace. The white fox turned around one of the towers of the castle. Harry, deciding to go around the other way to startle him, began to run again. He was somewhere near the side of the small castle when he heard human voices drawing closer to him.

Stopping around the bend, he listened to the familiar voices, staying in wolf form in case the people saw him. With a quick glance he saw that it was hollow-eyed Karkaroff, his fur-trimmed cloak secured around his neck, and Snape, who was wearing plain black robes and a gray scarf, his black hair flying about in the wind. Despite the frigid temperatures, Karkaroff had the left sleeve of his robes pushed up to his elbow. On his pale arm showed a tattoo so dark is looked as if ink itself had poured onto his skin – the Dark Mark.

If Harry had still been in human form he would have gasped. Karkaroff was a Death Eater? He should have known. He and Snape had been talking much too frequently for it to be a coincidence. But Harry wondered why Sirius hadn't mentioned it when he told him about Karkaroff and Dumbledore fighting about his name being called. Surely he knew that the man was a Death Eater. The thought of Karkaroff being the one who was helping him crossed his mind, but there was no way he would assist Harry over one of his own students.

"—blacker than it was before," Karkaroff muttered in rushed, agitated voice. "Surely you have noticed it, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Snape replied, averting his eyes.

"Don't lie, Severus! You know vat I am talking about! You know it's true!" Karkaroff moved to stand in front of him. He put his arm in Snape's face. "This is the blackest it's been since—"

"Get it away from me!"** Snape shouted.

"You cannot 'get away' from it, Severus." Karkaroff pulled his sleeve down. "The Dark Mark stains your arm as vell."

"If there is something else you want to talk about then do so."

"We have a store room filled with ingredients for potions and medicine, but lately some have gone missing. I vas wondering if you know anything about that. If you took something I vant it to be replaced."

"What was taken?"

"Then you did not take anything?"

"No, I have my own ingredients in my room."

"A jar of fluxweed, a jar of boomslang, and one horn of Bicorn."

"These ingredients…they are the most important parts of the Polyjuice Potion."

"That is what I first thought of, too."

"Is one of your professors teaching the potion?"

"Not at the—" Karkaroff's eyes grew wide and he took a step back.

"What is it?" Snape asked, following the other man's gaze as he turned on his heels.

In his desire to better hear the conversation, Harry had moved from around the corner and was now in plain sight of both men. He felt their dark eyes on him and he took a step back. His green eyes saw the movement of Karkaroff reaching for his wand. He took another step backwards and another and then ran off in the opposite direction, going back around the castle.

Standing near the Quidditch pitch was Draco in human form. "Where the hell did you go?"

As Harry went towards him, he transformed from four-legged, fur-covered animal to two-legged human in a cloak whose hems were wet from the snow. "Nowhere."

"Were you seen?"

"What does it matter? They wouldn't know if it was me anyway."

"Remember the last time we were seen? I was thrown against a tree and knocked unconscious."

"Okay, I'll be more careful," Harry said, following Draco, who started walking towards the back entrance into the castle.

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"Who was it that saw you?"

"Snape and Karkaroff."

"What were they doing?"

"Karkaroff said that someone had stolen ingredients from a store room."

"Oh," Draco replied.

As they walked through the dimly-lit corridors, making their way towards the front room with the fireplace, the image of the skull tattoo was brought back to Harry. He remembered seeing the tattoo on Snape's skin, but although he had considered it black, the sign on Karkaroff's arm was indeed much inkier. It was clear that it was much darker than it had been before. And of course the mark was connected to Voldemort, but in what way? What did a blacker tattoo mean to his followers?

"Harry?"

"Wha—? Yeah?"

"I asked if you wanted to go through first?"

Harry hadn't even realized he had kept on walking, and now the fireplace was standing in front of him, a bowl of Floo Powder resting on the mantle. "Err…sure." He grabbed a handful of powder, stepped into the empty fireplace, and after throwing the dust to his feet and saying, "Hogwarts Express," he was engulfed in flickering emerald green flames.

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* The Puking Pill is my own invention and is therefore not canon.

** Lines paraphrased from _Goblet of Fire_.

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Preview of Chapter 19—A Sickening Sight:

Harry sets his vengeful prank into motion and later attends the second round of the Dueling Club… 


	19. A Sickening Sight

"No one can make you jealous, angry, vengeful, or greedy unless you let them."

-Napoleon Hill

**19**

**A** **Sickening Sight**

Harry's plan was starting to come together. The shipment had arrived the previous day and he had all the kinks worked out. He knew exactly what he was going to do and how he was going to do it, and that was left to do was the actual plan.

He got dressed as he normally did, woke Draco so that they would have time to get breakfast before class started, and set out for the fireplace. Besides his books and writing utensils he had also packed his Invisibility Cloak. At breakfast, while Draco wolfed down his meal, Harry ate little, for though the instructions for the Puking Pill had suggested he ingest some real food it was going to be his least favorite part of the prank.

Sitting in Potions class with the fourth and fifth years, his palms and the back of his neck was getting clammy from the unease that it wouldn't work. But he wasn't going to back out now. He had it all planned out and it was going to be completed.

Barely twenty minutes passed of lecturing and page turning before Harry decided it was time put his plan into fruition. He would need the extra class time to make sure everything was just right. As he reached into his trouser pocket for the pill, Draco glanced at him momentarily. By pretending he was resting his chin on his hand he was able to pop the pill into his mouth.

Harry bit down on the bright red pill, wincing slightly at what was to come. What flowed to his throat was in fact disgusting, but not in the way he had thought it would be – he figured the taste of something similar to gasoline, rotten eggs or fruitcake would force him to puke, but instead it was an excessively sugary liquid that made him gag. He felt the juices churning in his stomach, as quick and as devastating as a tornado, and then a vicious, burning liquid began to make his throat.

Harry raised his hand into the air. Snape stopped mid-sentence to say, "There are no questions at this time, Potter. If you would like to make a fool of yourself then I will happily oblige _later_."

"Professor…I don't feel well."

"I'm not in the mood for your interruptions. Everyone please turn to page one-ninety-five."

His throat felt like it was on fire and his stomach even more so. His body was a volcano and what was about to unwillingly emerge from his mouth was akin to lava. Harry stood from his seat, a hand to his stomach.

"Potter, _sit down_."

Unable to control himself, Harry leaned over and puked all over the floor. The students in the nearby desks hastily got out of their seats. He looked up out of teary eyes to see that they were covering their noses against the stench, though he himself could barely smell it against the burning sensation in his throat and chest. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he fumbled for his wand to clean up the mess when Snape stepped forward, telling him to go to the hospital wing.

Harry picked up his messenger bag, feeling the eyes of every person in the room on him, as he left the room. Now the real prank began.

His first inclination was to find a loo to wash the vomit from his mouth, but he wanted to do this as quickly as possible. Wiping his mouth again, he placed the Invisibility Cloak over his body as he quickly but quietly made his way towards the fireplace. Throwing down a handful of Floo Powder, he muttered, "_Hogwarts Express!_" Green flames blinded him momentarily as he was transported down the grounds to his temporary home.

Although he couldn't be seen, he could still be heard, and so he made his way down the corridor and into his own compartment to retrieve the bright red firework and the plain plastic bucket he had transformed (with some practice) the night before.

Harry knew exactly which compartment Ron Weasley shared with Terry Boot. It was closer to the Interchangeable Room and sadly only five away from his own room. None of the compartment doors locked, which may or may not be a plus, since it meant his own room wasn't locked, but for today it was a definite advantage because he didn't have to use a spell to break in. Not that it would have been a problem, just a waste of time.

He closed his own compartment door and walked towards his ex-friends room. Opening the door slowly, he saw that the room was a complete mess: black robes, gray trousers and jumpers, and white socks all over the floor. His room wasn't the cleanest, but at least there wasn't a near-yellow sock hanging on the frame of the window. It even smelled weird.

While attempting to momentarily stop himself from breathing, Harry took his wand from his pocket after placing the bucket on the floor said, "_Aguamenti!_" A jet of clear blue water shot from his wand into the bucket, filling it until near the top. He glanced quickly out of the room and down the corridor to find that no one was around. Employing his wand, he conjured a short rope, tying it around the middle of the bucket. Then, taking care to flourish his wand extravagantly, he exclaimed, "_Wingardrium Leviosa!_" The plastic bucket began to hover above the ground, some of the water sloshing over the brim and onto a pile of undoubtedly dirty robes.

After a few moments of careful concentration, Harry got the bucket to sit on the slight ledge of wooden frame of the compartment door. He held the other, loose-hanging end of the rope tightly, knowing that if he let go the bucket would fall. He placed one of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat fireworks on the ground, directly beneath the bucket's eventual waterfall.

Harry, still holding the rope, moved backwards into the corridor, and managed to close the compartment door onto the tip of the rope without making the bucket spill. He smiled at the thought that not only would Weasley have to deal with a firework, but he would be drenched.

Checking his watch he realized that he really needed to get a move on, so without delay he used the fireplace to go back to the castle and hastily went up the numerous marble steps until he was on the third floor. When he was only a few feet from the hospital wing doors, he threw off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into his messenger bag. It was a good thing the combined effort of near-running and being under the Cloak had caused him to sweat because the effects of the Puking Pill had already worn off. He opened the doors and walked into the large room, trying to feign sickness.

Healer Nikolai immediately walked towards him, his strides quick for an older man. Worry was more than apparent from the way his eyes drooped and the way his forehead furrowed, creating even more creases in his skin. Harry tripped slightly on the hem of his own robes by accident, but the effect was what he had sought after – it made him look all the more weak and fragile. The only time he would actually want to appear that way.

"Vat is the matter, Mr. Potter? Vat is wrong?" the man asked, urging Harry towards one of the beds.

"I don't feel well. I don't feel well at all." He dropped his bag on the floor and climbed into the bed, his shoes still on.

As Healer Nikolai asked again what was wrong and what his symptoms were Harry patted his trouser pocket to find that he had another Puking Pill there. He replied, "I threw up in class." Nikolai nodded, mentioning that there was a bucket beneath the bed, before running off. He wasn't sure he wanted to use the other Puking Pill now; Nikolai already believed him, and so he kept the red pill in his pocket for safekeeping.

Forty-five minutes later, after having drunken a thick potion to settle his stomach that only ended up making him burp a lot, after having taken off his shoes and getting comfortable in the hospital bed, the doors to the hospital wing burst open. The curtains around his bed were open and therefore he could clearly see Snape's usually calm demeanor be instantly abandoned at the sight of him. Harry almost wanted to jump out of the bed, but knew that that would alert his professor that he had done something wrong, and so he tried to look perplexed.

After only a glare in his direction, Snape asked Healer Nikolai, "How long has he been here?"

"Almost since the beginning of class."

"How long _exactly?_"

"I am not sure. I do not check the clock ven a student bursts in vith vomit on his face and looks feverish. I am sure you vould not either." After a moment's silence, he asked, "Vat is wrong? Has something happened?"

"Yes, you could say that," Snape added, turning to glance at Harry. "It is rather peculiar, I might add. Somehow, while everyone was in class and while Potter was apparently here in the hospital wing, someone put a firework in Mr. Weasley's compartment, a bucket of water hanging on the edge, so that when he opened the door it lit the firework and set it off. It ended up breaking the window in his and Mr. Boot's room. But I am sure that Mr. Potter has absolutely _no idea_ how that happened."

"None whatsoever, Professor," Harry replied, trying his best not to smirk. He wasn't sure if Snape knew he was lying or not, but it was pretty clear that his professor had an inkling from the way his dark eyes narrowed.

"And if I checked the list of Dr. Filibuster's recent orders your name would most certainly not be there?"

"Certainly not."

"Professor Snape, Mr. Potter has been here the whole time and could not have had anything to do with this firevork business," interjected Healer Nikolai. Harry wished he could thank the healer for inadvertently helping him.

Snape turned on his heel, the end of his long, black cloak flapping up around his feet, as he left the hospital wing in a hurry. As the door closed behind him, Harry realized that he had gotten away with it. He would not be getting any detention for a prank he had indeed arranged. Of course, Weasley and Granger would know it had been him, and now the consequence of Harry's actions was that there would now be a prank waiting in the wings for _him_.

* * *

The next week passed much too slowly as all Harry could do was wonder and worry when Weasley's next trick would befall him and how much damage it would do. He didn't regret his prank, after all Weasley had started it, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat anxious. He had to admit that his eyes darted around him much more than he would like. And all because of some stupid git.

The 16th of December was only the next day and he worried that something would prevent him from participating in the second round of the Dueling Club. He was careful about where he went alone and he even locked the compartment door that night. But luckily nothing happened. Perhaps Weasley was waiting for the right moment. Harry gulped at the thought as he entered the Dining Hall, seeing that there were now only two blood-red stages waiting for the fights.

The young professor from before was standing at the front of the room on a raised box, a piece of parchment in his hands. Looking around him, Harry saw that a large crowd had formed, much larger than before. More students from all three schools were standing in small groups around the room. And not only was Snape and McGonagall present, but Moody and Dumbledore had joined the buzzing throng./p

"Velcome to the second round of the Dueling Club!" the teacher said, having to shout in an attempt to be heard by all in the room. "I sincerely hope you all have been practicing, for now only the best duelers remain, and that means a more difficult partner and a more difficult fight. Keep a clear head and a keep the rules in mind." He consulted his paper, as Harry moved through the crowd until he was standing next to Draco. "The first two groups are Markovski and Girard, and Antonov and Granger."

From the center of the room, Harry could see Granger moving between the taller students in red and blue and black, her frizzy head bobbing in and out of view. She met her muscular, older opponent on the left stage. Before taking out her wand, she tied her hair up into a bun.

"Wands at the ready!"

The four students bowed, their backs arching slightly, and then they all raised their wands in front of their faces. Harry watched as the two opposing duelers walked away from each other, before turning swiftly, eyes set on the other person and wand poised. As he glanced at the other stage, where tall, lanky Markovski and the beautiful brunette girl, Girard, were standing, he heard Granger shout a spell.

"_Stupefy!_" Red light flashed brightly in the room. The tall, broad-shouldered young man barely stepped out of the way when the spell hit a lit torch on the wall, causing the fire to blast out and send sparks into the air. The people closest gasped.

But the students on the stages didn't stop to look. Brandishing his wand, Antonov said a spell so quickly that Harry could barely make out what it was he said. The Durmstrang boy may have been quick, but Granger was clearly quicker. "_Protego!_" The spell bounced off her magical shield, and then she added, "_Incarcerous!_" A long rope shot out of her wand, one end tying itself around the boy's ankles, while Granger held the other. Antonov glanced down at his feet and then back at Granger, who smiled and then brought the large boy down with a forceful tug. His back hit the stage with a loud thud and he let out a pained grunt.

While he was still lying on his back, Granger pointed her wand at him and exclaimed, "_Stupefy!_" The red flash hit him in the chest and as Antonov's body went limp, Granger was awarded a red flag.

Harry turned toward the other stage when Draco nudged his arm. What he saw he was most certainly not expecting. He heard a few giggles and some hushed laugher. Markovski was standing in the center of the stage and Girard, a coy smile on her lips, was walking around him, a finger following the curve of his back. The Durmstrang boy gulped visibly, his face growing red. How they had gotten this way, Harry didn't know, although he had heard them saying spells. Clearly the boy was paralyzed, but not from any spell.

But when another boy from the crowd shouted, "Markovski, don't just stand there!" he seemed to come out of his reverie, and realize that there were other people in the room.

Markovski raised his wand with his thin arm, pointing it at the girl who stood barely an arm's length away. Girard tried to say a spell first, but he muttered, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" Her body froze, but there wasn't enough stage for her to fall onto and so she descended onto the crowd, which managed to grab her, as if they were at a rock concert. They brought her to the floor softly.

Markovski smiled sheepishly as a red flag was raised for him.

"The next groups are Borisov and Laurent, and Bogdan and Gorskey."

As the four students walked towards their prospective stages, Draco nudged him again and asked, "Which d'you think are going to win?"

Seeing the boy Gorskey taking a spot on the left stage, his face turned into an ever-present grimace, Harry was certain he was going to win his fight with the other Durmstrang student, Bogdan. He told this to Draco, who nodded in agreement. "Between Laurent and Borisov, I'm not sure," Harry added.

"I'm not sure either," Draco responded. "He's clumsy; I remember what he did last time, getting into that standstill, but he might just beat her."

The first spells were cast as bright flashes of light danced across the faces of the students and professors watching. Laurent's long blonde hair whipped up around her as she flicked her wand and yelled, "_Rictusempra!_" Borisov, dressed in a dark red robe, moved to duck the spell, ended up stepping on his own hem, and fell backwards onto the stage; at least the bright flash missed him by a large margin because of it. The crowd erupted into laughter at the sight of him struggling to get back to his feet.

On the other side of the room it was clear who was going to win, and Harry hadn't doubted it. Bogdan not only had his arms and legs pinned to his side by a thick rope, but the rope itself was also pinned to the floor. However, just as the red flag was going to be raised, the boy belted out, "_Furnunculus!_" He struggled against the ropes and didn't have enough room to point the wand at the ropes keeping him down, so he did lose the duel, but at least Gorskey was now covered in red, angry-looking boils. Harry had to give the boy credit for making Gorskey look like a fool, even if he didn't win the fight.

Borisov got to his feet and before Laurent could raise her wand, he muttered, "_Levicorpus!_" It was as if a rope had tied itself around her ankles and pulled because the next moment she was being hauled into the air. It was any wonder she managed to keep a grip on her wand because her pale face grew red as her robes and skirt fell down around her upper body. The crowd started laughing and gawking at her long, shapely legs. She clutched with her other hand at her skirts to keep some modesty.

Harry saw from Borisov's wide-open mouth that he hadn't thought about the fact that girls wear skirts and that she would be revealing more than if a boy had been pulled up by the same spell. Clearly pissed off, Laurent got herself down with a quick spell and set her narrowed eyes on the Durmstrang boy. She muttered something angrily in French, and then yelled, "_Stupefy!_" Her face was nearly as red as the flag that they gave her.

"That was quite a show," Draco said, smiling. "I was not expecting that, not at all."

The young professor cleared his throat. Glancing at his parchment, he said, "Johnson and Roux, as vell as Krum and Malfoy, are next."

Harry noticed his best mate's face take on a slight flush. Draco ran a hand over his smoothed-back blond hair, before taking out his wand. He stepped forward, but Harry gave him a pat on the back that momentarily stopped him. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Draco said, both of them knowing that there was hardly a chance that Draco could beat Viktor Krum. Only with luck or a mishap on Krum's side would Draco win.

Harry edged closer towards the right stage as Draco took his place opposite dark-haired Krum. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to his right to see that Mad-Eye was glancing at him, both his electric blue eye and his normal blue one. He smiled at Harry, making the scars on his face even more apparent. He didn't smile back, just gave him a quick nod. Moody took a few steps forward and Harry saw that standing beyond him was Snape, his locked on the two students on the stage. He seemed to feel that Harry was looking at him, just as he had felt Moody, because his dark eyes turned toward him, no expression showing. Harry glanced away quickly, pretending he had been looking at his friend the entire time.

The first to act was Krum. Brandishing his wand elaborately, he exclaimed, "_Incendio!_" The fire trailed out of his wand, making a circle of flames around Draco, who stood at the opposite end of the stage than Krum. Draco seemed to panic for a moment, unsure of what to do, but after a moment he pointed his wand. "_Aguamenti!_"

Fresh blue water doused the water around him, but Krum must have been anticipating his inattention because while Draco was still getting rid of the flames Krum stepped forward. "_Expelliarmus!_" The blond boy was thrown back a few feet. His wand, released from his grip, was lying only a foot from his fingers, but Krum was eyeing it as well.

Instead of getting to his feet, Draco settled for his knees and lunged for his wand, but he wasn't quick enough. He was hit with the Confundus Charm. Krum was instantly given the red flag.

Turning towards the other stage, Harry saw that Angelina Johnson was clearly beating Roux, the red-haired girl from Beauxbatons. Her left hand, her wand hand, was awkwardly tied to her left leg, and so she had to report to using her right hand to fire spells, but it wasn't going as well as planned. Johnson's legs were moving uncontrollably, which was preventing her from hitting her target quite as well.

When Johnson missed Roux again, she muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "_Bollocks_." Roux took the opportunity to strike and she yelled, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" Roux got a red flag, a smile of relief on her face.

Completely aware once again, Draco moved through the crowd back to Harry, his eyes on the floor and his wand back in his pocket. "I should've grabbed my wand faster. I could've taken him, I could've won."

"You did a damn good job nonetheless. You nearly did beat him, I think."

Draco shrugged. "It'll be your turn next. Good luck."

"Thanks."

Sure enough the professor took his usually spot once more and called the final four names to the stage. "Montague and Diggory, Potter and Weasley." Draco nearly choked on his own laughter when he heard who Harry was going up against. This was going to be easy; it would be over in a minute flat, if not thirty seconds. Defeating Weasley would be a cinch.

Harry slipped his wand from his pocket as he made his way towards his stage. Two Hogwarts champions – Harry was certain that the crowd wasn't sure who they wanted to watch more, but he was hoping it was him because he wanted everyone to see him beat Weasley with one swift and easy spell.

Standing on the stage, he watched as Weasley climbed the steps leading up to the stage, his blue eyes focused intently on Harry's face and his long wand poised between his fingers. As the red-head took his place opposite him, Harry couldn't help but smirk. This was going to be rather amusing.

"Wands at the ready!" Harry and Weasley bowed, but although their faces turned away their eyes never did. They walked away from each other, both wands held at their sides, and then Harry turned to face his former friend.

Weasley made to raise his wand, but Harry was faster – he took a few steps forward and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" The spell caused Weasley's wand to jump from his fingers, landing a few feet away. Harry still hadn't mastered the technique of catching another person's wand. The wand was closer to Weasley than it was to Harry, so the red-head dove for it, no doubt bruising his knees as he did.

Harry flicked his wand and exclaimed, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" but Weasley ducked, grabbing his wand as he did. He pointed up and yelled, "_Incarcerous!_" Thick rope shot towards him, but with a quick, "_Protego!_", it was stopped.

Just as Harry brandished his wand, preparing to finally put a stop to this fight, he felt something hit his left side. It was warm and uncomfortable. He looked down to see that his robes were on fire, but it hadn't been Weasley's doing. Diggory was staring at him from across the room and just over the laughter of the crowd, he heard the other Triwizard champion say that he was sorry.

As Weasley guffawed with laughter, his ears growing red, Harry doused his robes with water. A piece of burnt black fabric was lying on the stage, the smell of fire and smoke curdling around him, and suddenly Harry got an idea. Flicking his wand, he yelled, "_Fera Verto!_" The curled piece of fabric instantly turned into a large black spider.

The laughter on the other end of the stage immediately stopped. Harry looked up to see that Weasley had stopped dead: his eyes, wide with fear, were focused on the crawling creature and his wand arm had gone limp at his side. The creature began crawling its way towards the red-haired boy, who started to back away slowly. When Weasley's shuffling feet reached the end of the stage, Harry saw the other boy close his eyes and take a deep breath.

It would have been the perfect time to finish him off and end the duel right then and there, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he wanted to know what Weasley was going to do. Would he conquer his fears or run away screaming?

Weasley's chest rose and then fell slowly. He opened his eyes and for a moment glanced at Harry, before turning to the spider. It was at that moment that Harry realized how utter silent the room was. It seemed as if the other duel had stopped as well, or perhaps it had already finished, Harry wasn't sure. Weasley raised his wand arm and shakily pointed his wand at the spider.

"De-_Depulso!_" There was a quick flash of light and then the spider was gone. Weasley sighed audibly, his relief evident.

Harry was in slight shock. Weasley had actually gotten rid of the spider without being a coward. Perhaps he had been sorted into the correct House all along. However, something was bubbling beneath the surface, something Harry didn't want to admit to himself or to anyone else. He was jealous. Jealous of the fact that Weasley had managed to overcome part of his fears, whereas Harry was exactly where he had been before this duel had started, exactly where he had been before the Triwizard Tournament had began. He had fought trolls, Dementors, and a Boggart, and still he was in the same place. All Weasley had to do was see a spider, be in an awkward position with everyone watching, and he could take a step onto the path of fearlessness. Why not him? Why not his fears? When would Harry's time to overcome his fears arrive?

With a quick, furtive glance, Weasley turned his attention back to Harry, who could see the anger in his freckled features. The red-head may have overcome his fears, but he wouldn't beat Harry in this duel, Harry was going to make sure of it.

At the same moment Weasley screamed, "_Stupefy!_", Harry yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" The flashes of light collided at an equal distance between the two boys, before the hurtling back to the wizard that had cast it. Harry, seeing that white flash of light coming towards him, leaned quickly towards the right, the spell barely missing his left arm. He looked at Weasley and found him lying on the stage, unconscious.

As Harry looked across the way at the other stage, the room buzzing from chatter, he received a red flag. He had no idea what had happened between Montague and Diggory, but Montague had gotten the red flag for his efforts. With a quick tap of his wand, one of the red-cloaked professors woke Weasley, who stood up and started walking towards Harry since the small stairs attached to the stage were on Harry's end. But before he got past, Harry extended his arm, hand poised for the other boy to shake it.

Weasley stopped. He looked upwards from the outstretched hand to Harry's blank face. Harry wasn't sure why he had done it. Perhaps he wanted this feud to be over before it i_really_/i began, but either way it didn't matter because Weasley practically grimaced at the gesture, as if disgusted.

In a whisper, only audible to the two of them, Weasley said, "You don't deserve to shake hands with anyone." He then pushed past Harry, knocking into his shoulder painfully, and walked off of the stage into the crowd.

Dropping his arm, Harry watched the red-head, his constant opponent, meander through the mostly silent swarm of onlookers. His eyes met Hermione Grangers, but he couldn't make out her expression. She didn't look angry or upset; her features seemed almost blank, expressionless, but he would rather have seen something stronger, even if it was directed at him because he wasn't sure whether he had done something wrong or not. The other eyes that met his were more expressive: Snape's dark eyes were narrowed, but he merely looked confused, as if Harry was a mystery.

Before the gossip of the crowd could grow any louder, Harry walked off the stage and exited the room. His footfalls echoed lightly off the marble floors and stone walls. He knew that if anything the pranks they had only begun to pull on each other would only get worse after this. The spider must have been Weasley's final straw, just as the letter to Sirius had been his. They had just entered a whole new level.

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**A/N: **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! Half-Blood Prince is only a few days away now!! I bought tickets for the midnight showing. First time I've ever done it, and I'm so excited! Have a great weekend, you guys!

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Preview of Chapter 20—The Pick of the Yule Ball:

Harry and the other Hogwarts students find out about the Yule Ball, and Pansy Parkinson arrives at Durmstrang…


	20. The Pick of the Yule Ball

"Solitude would be idea if you could pick the people to avoid."

-Karl Kraus

**20**

**The Pick of the Yule Ball**

For the weeks leading up to Pansy Parkinson's arrival Harry had said nothing. Although Harry himself would say, if Draco later asked, that he was abiding by with her wishes, it was really because he had simply forgotten. Too many things had been happening at once, and it had just slipped his mind. But he was rudely reawakened to it on the 19th of December, two days before she was to come to the school, by something else that reminded him of it.

While trying to open the box for the millionth time, there was a knock on his compartment door, and he opened it to find Professor McGonagall standing out in the corridor. Draco stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," she said calmly.

"Good evening," the boys replied in unison.

"You are both needed in the Interchangeable Room. Professor Dumbledore will be making a quick announcement to all the Hogwarts students in five minutes."

They both thanked her, as she moved onto the next room, and Harry slipped on his trainers before making their way to the Interchangeable Room. Every seat was taken, some of the armchairs had two or three people squished into them, but even then most of the students had to take a seat on the floor. Harry and Draco stood near the back of the room, waiting for this unusual speech by their headmaster. The buzzing in the room grew louder as more students entered the room. McGonagall, Snape, Moody, and finally Dumbledore walked in, closing the door behind them.

The headmaster stood a few feet from the doors so that everyone could see him. He lifted his hands and the room quieted down. "Thank you all for joining me tonight. Do not worry, this announcement is nothing terrible, at least some of you may not think so. I am here to inform you that the Yule Ball – a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament is fast-approaching. Not only will it allow us to socialize with our foreign counterparts, but it will allow us to enjoy ourselves on a night of dancing and conversation."

There was a very apparent smile on Dumbledore's face and his clear blue eyes were sparkling. Some of the girls in the room giggled at the idea that the students, and possibly teachers, would be dancing. "The Yule Ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day in the Dining Hall, and it will finish at midnight. For those you do not know, dress robes must be worn. If you do not own dress robes, do not waste time in sending an order to Madam Malkin's.

"Now, for the more…important aspect of the ball – dance partners." Harry could practically hear the entire room shudder at the thought.

One of the Weasley twins called out, "Dance partners?"

Dumbledore replied, "Yes, Mr. Weasley. Although you do not exactly _need_ a partner, I can guarantee that the dance will be less enjoyable if you do not have one. You have just under a week to find your dates to the Yule Ball. Good night to you all."

As Harry and Draco waited for the rest of the students to file out of the room, Draco asked, "Are you going to ask someone to the Yule Ball?"

"I'm not sure," Harry answered. "What about you?"

"If Pansy was here I would ask her. I'll have to ask someone else."

Above the heads of the students, Harry saw Dumbledore searching the crowd for someone. As Harry realized all at once that Parkinson was coming to Durmstrang in two days, that Draco wouldn't need to look for a date, and that he would, his headmaster's blue eyes met his green ones. Once at the door Dumbledore stopped him and Cedric Diggory, saying that he needed to talk to them.

It was quiet in the room with only the professors, Diggory, and himself. The sparkle was still in his headmaster's eyes. Clearly he liked the idea of everyone getting together for the Yule Ball, all the dancing and talking and intermingling.

"Diggory, Potter, I know I said that the students do need a partner, but being champions you must invite someone to join you to the Yule Ball. It is tradition that the three – well, four – champions open the ball."

"But I don't dance," Harry said. He noticed that Diggory nodded beside him, also not liking the idea of circling around with a girl like a prat.

"Oh yes, you do," McGonagall interjected, standing over to the side, her arms crossed over his chest. "This year you do. It is a tradition, Mr. Potter, and if generations of men could do it, you most certainly can."

"Professor McGonagall is correct. You will both have to find a partner, and you have a week to do so," Dumbledore added. "Good luck."

Harry left the room wishing he had never entered it. Not only would he have to find a date to the ball, but he would have to dance. He wasn't sure which was the worst of the two evils. But at breakfast the next morning, he realized that he would rather dance in front of everyone like a fool than ask a girl any day.

The girls of all three schools were grouped into little clumps at the round tables, whispering quickly between them and giggling loudly. The cast quick glances around the room at different boys – their prospective dates. And because all the girls had grabbed the seats in groups it left the remaining cluster of seats to be taken up by the boys, who talked amongst themselves just as much as the girls did, though they didn't giggle.

Harry spooned cold cereal into his mouth as he surreptitiously glanced around the room, looking at the girls in the room. Who would be a good candidate to be his date? He immediately noticed Fleur Delacour. She, of course, was beautiful and older, and so he knew she would never say yes. His eyes landed on Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, who were sitting together – they were also older, but more importantly they were Gryffindors. They would definitely say no.

Then his gaze stopped at Granger, who was sitting with Weasley. Her hair was made up of frizzy, overly-curly locks, and yet she wasn't ugly, not in the least. Her big brown eyes were full of knowledge and understanding, she had full lips, and the apples of her cheeks protruded nicely when she smiled. But he would never ask her, and he knew she would never say yes. She would probably rather cast a spell on herself than say yes to him, and so he moved on.

He spooned more cereal into his mouth, chomping untidily as he looked over at Cho Chang. She was a year older. She was popular. And she had long black hair, porcelain skin, and kind eyes. But he knew her to be considerate and caring, and so it was possible that he might have a chance with her.

Of course, if it didn't work out, and it most likely wouldn't, there were all the Durmstrang girls, the other Beauxbaton girls, as well as Vicky Frobisher and Susan Bones.

"—thinking of asking that French girl Roux, you know the one with the short red hair," said Adrian Pucey, who was sitting a few seats away from Harry. "Who are you thinking of asking, Terence?"

Harry and Draco glanced up to see who he was considering. "I was thinking of asking Simon."

"You mean the girl that was beaten by Gorskey in the Dueling Club? Didn't she run off the stage crying?" Pucey asked.

"Yes, I mean her, and no she wasn't crying when she ran off the stage."

"But she did run off the stage."

Higgs' embarrassment clearly showed as his face grew red. "Err…yeah. But Gorskey threw fire at her." Pucey shrugged.

Midway through breakfast, the rest of the seats at their table became occupied by Montague, Derrick, and Bole. As they ate their breakfast looking like starved animals rather than humans, Pucey asked them who they were going to ask to the Yule Ball.

Sticking his chest out and looking overconfident, Montague said that he had already asked his date and that she had said yes. Harry leaned closer to hear that this morning, just before breakfast, he had asked the beautiful blonde girl named Laurent. He couldn't believe that such a charming girl would say yes to this obnoxious, heavily-built bloke. Pucey and Higgs congratulated him with a strong pat on the back.

"So, have you thought about who you're going to ask, Harry?" Draco said between gulps from his goblet. "It's pretty important that you have to open the ball." Harry had told him the night before, after leaving the Interchangeable Room about his having to find a date.

"Err…not really," lied Harry, his eyes going back to Cho Chang.

Draco followed his gaze and asked, "Who are you looking at?"

"No one. I was just thinking. I don't know who I want to ask right now."

"Well you should get on it, otherwise only the ugly ones will be left." He moved some food around his plate. "Aren't you curious about whom I'm going to ask?"

"I thought that maybe you weren't going to go with anyone since Parkinson isn't here."

"That's exactly the point. She isn't here. But I still want to have a good night, so I was thinking of Lefevre."

Harry didn't want to tell Draco that Parkinson was arriving tomorrow and that he wouldn't have to worry about finding a date for the Yule Ball, but he wasn't sure how exactly to sway him from asking someone else before he found out the truth. He said the first thing that came to him. "I think she might already have a date."

"Really?" Draco said, glancing over his shoulder at her. Harry looked too. She was sitting on the other side of the room beside Fleur, both of them curling their long blonde hair around their fingertips. "I guess I'll have to ask someone else."

"Don't think too much on it. I'm sure you'll get a date."

"I know I will." Draco slicked back his hair with his fingers as he looked at his distorted reflection in his silver goblet.

"Stop admiring yourself or we're gonna be late for class." Harry collected his books, and the two of them left for an unwelcome dose of Severus Snape early in the morning for their last day of classes before winter holiday.

* * *

The passed away, as did the night and even the night day without a appearance from Pansy Parkinson. After Harry and Draco had gone into their compartment after lunch, he was starting to think she would never show. Maybe her coming was a joke, some scheme to make him feel stupid. But he only felt stupid for thinking that when there was a steady rap on the door.

Draco got up from his bed and opened the door slowly, clearly in no rush to be tormented by who he thought was Pucey or Higgs. After sliding the door aside, revealing Parkinson, who was dressed in her Slytherin robes, Draco shouted, "Pansy!"

"Hi, Draco!" she replied, her smile spreading across her face. She leaned in and Harry watched them embrace tightly. Parkinson rested her head on his shoulder; her eyes were shut, but she was still smiling.

When they parted, Draco asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore's letting me stay here for a week."

"Did your father help?"

"Of course," Parkinson replied. "I don't know what we'd do without his money and manipulative techniques." Draco laughed, and then they kissed, his arms holding her close.

Harry turned back to the book he was reading, trying to ignore them, but just as he was starting to get into what he was reading again, forgetting the lovers in his doorway, he heard Parkinson say his name. He looked up, putting the book aside. "What was that?"

"I asked how you are." Parkinson and Draco were now standing in the room, his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm very well. You?"

"I'm much better _now_," Pansy said, glancing at Draco, who smiled. She turned back to Harry. "Oh, and thanks for not telling him that I was coming. It was much better as a surprise."

"You knew?" Draco asked.

"She told me not to tell you."

"Now I don't have to look for a date to the Yule Ball," Draco said.

"The Yule Ball?" Parkinson inquired.

"It's a dance, a way for all the students to get to know each other outside of the classroom and whatnot. I was going to ask someone else, but now that you're here I don't have to."

"And you just assumed I was going with you?"

Draco looked completely bewildered. He looked at Harry, who shrugged.

"Well, yeah," was all that Draco said.

"You have to ask me first. I don't do anything from implication; I do things because people ask me very, very nicely." She was smiling her usual, sly smile. Harry had to admit that he quite liked the look on her, it suited her well.

"Well then, Miss Parkinson, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Yes, I will." They hugged once again, but this time Parkinson didn't close her eyes. She looked directly at Harry, who met her gaze for a moment, before turning away. He picked up his book and pretended to read, but he couldn't get over the fact that she had been starting directly at him. He tried to block it from his thoughts. He had more important things to consider, like how he was going to open the box and what the second task would entail, but he couldn't get the image of her eyes boring into his out of his head.

It turned out that Parkinson was bunking temporarily with Granger and Bones, who were none too pleased about her sudden appearance. Dumbledore had cast a spell to make the room large enough to fit three beds instead of two. But he couldn't fix the problem of there being a Slytherin and a Gryffindor in the same room. If they ended up screaming at each other, they would most likely be able to it since the girls' room was right next to theirs.

When Parkinson had gone, Harry and Draco sat at the edge of their beds. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," the blond boy said, staring at the door, as if Parkinson would suddenly be there. "You could've at least given me a hint."

"And ruin the surprise?" Harry asked, faking excitement. "I love seeing you two snogging in front of me."

"Oh, shut up." Draco inched back onto his bed, letting his back rest against the wall and his feet hang over the edge. "Have you gotten a dance partner yet?"

"No, and you asked me this morning."

"Well, you might've asked someone between now and then."

"I've been with you the entire day," Harry replied.

"You might've asked while I went to the toilet."

"Well, I didn't, clearly."

"You better get on it, or you could end up with Derrick as your dance partner. And he seems like a clumsy dancer," Draco joked, his smile growing.

"I'll ask someone. And it won't be—"

Harry stood up at the sound of a feet running and a loud thump against the next door over. He opened the compartment door to see a small group of people. Parkinson, Granger, Bones, Boot, and Davies were standing around Ron Weasley, who was half-sitting, half-squatting against the wall. He looked completely disheveled – hair a mess, face white, eyes wide.

"Ron, what happened?" Granger asked, concern apparent in her tone as she kneeled down beside her friend.

Harry inched closer, trying to hear what had made the Gryffindor so scared. Draco was standing right next to him, looking just as bewildered, but he couldn't keep the sarcasm from his words, "Did you see a terrifying lawn gnome? I know some people just can't keep it together afterwards."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Granger warned. She threw him a sharp glance, but Draco only chuckled.

"Oh, c'mon, Weasley, what was it? Don't leave us all hanging," said Draco.

"Ron, for Merlin's sake, what happened?" Granger asked once more.

"I asked her…I asked her to the Yule Ball."

"Who did you ask?" Boot inquired.

"Fleur. Fleur Delacour."

Draco instantly started laughing. "From the expression, I'm guessing she said no."

"No! She…" Weasley's voice trailed off.

"She said yes?" Granger asked.

Weasley looked down at the floor and said, "Err…I ran away before she could say anything." It only made Draco laugh harder. Granger took off one of her shoes and threw it, causing it to hit Draco in the shoulder. "_Ow_." But Granger just shrugged and turned back to Weasley.

"So does Fleur have a date, or is she still available?" Roger Davies asked. This time even Susan Bones cast him a look, silencing him, so the suave, older boy took his leave, going towards the Interchangeable Room. Harry had no doubt he was going to ask Fleur himself whether she wanted to go with him.

Weasley pushed himself up using both the wall and the floor. "I'm going back to my room."

"To cry?" Draco asked.

Weasley turned around, the color rising in his cheeks, but Granger grabbed his right arm and guided him further down the corridor. Terry Boot and Susan Bones followed behind them. Still standing in the corridor, Harry, Draco, and Parkinson watched them make their way to the Interchangeable Room.

"What a joke," Draco muttered. "He couldn't even wait to get her answer, which anyone could see would be a definite no. I mean, just look at him. He can't he afford new clothes." Parkinson giggled.

Harry was going to say that Weasley was being a pathetic idiot, thinking that he would have a chance with one of the most beautiful girls in school, but Pansy went into her room and Draco followed, leaving him on his own. Staring at the closed door to the Interchangeable Room, he knew that even he wouldn't have a chance with Fleur, so for Weasley it was out of the question. Harry couldn't believe Weasley had even asked. But he had to give him some credit for trying.

He went back into his compartment and fed Hedwig, trying to ignore the fact that he still needed a date to the dance. After combing Hedwig's feathers for a while, he decided to go down to the Interchangeable Room, thinking that the little group of Weasley sympathizers would have left by then, and that maybe there would be girls there to ask. As he closed his compartment door, he heard Parkinson's door close and then heard a shriek of surprise. Bones and Granger must have found Draco and Parkinson together. Harry smirked at the idea, and continued down the hallway.

As he drew closer, he realized that Granger and Weasley hadn't left the room just yet. He could hear their voices very distinctly on the other side, and it didn't sound pleasant.

"—so you just assumed!" Granger yelled. "I can't believe you!"

"I didn't think you were going with anyone," Weasley replied.

"Just because I'm your second choice, doesn't mean I'm someone else's!"

"I didn't know, okay?" Weasley paused for a moment, and Harry moved closer to the wall as one of the compartment's opened. Draco and Parkinson filed out, laughing, and went into his and Draco's room. "But will you go with me, Hermione?"

"No, I won't go with you! I already have a date! I thought I had made that perfectly clear!" she yelled. "I would've gone with you if you had just asked me _earlier_."

"Well, who it is then?" Weasley asked. "Who's taking you?"

"Why do you care? I wasn't good enough for you to ask me." There were footsteps on the other side of the door, and before Harry could attempt to go back to his compartment, the door had swung open and he was drenched into the light spilling out of the room. Granger stopped in the doorway, staring at him, her cheeks red and expression showing aggravation. "Oh…it's you. Come to enjoy the show, Potter?"

Harry said nothing and just stepped away to let her pass. Weasley looked at him from inside the room. "What are you looking at, Potter?"

"You're ugly face," Harry replied, before closing the door.

Walking back, he saw Granger's room open and Susan Bones step out. The two girls spoke for a moment in hushed voices, and then Granger went into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bones glanced at him and then at her closed door. When he was close enough, she asked, "Do you know what happened?"

Harry was a bit shocked that she had asked, considering she knew he was a Slytherin, that he wasn't friends with Weasley or Granger, and that he knew her to be very shy. "Err…yeah. Weasley asked Granger to the Yule Ball, but she got upset because she was his second choice and because he didn't have the guts to ask her before. And I think she already has a date."

"She does?" Bones asked, looking at him with big brown eyes. She quickly glanced at her door, and the movement made the brunette braid going down her back move onto her shoulder.

"If you don't know, and you're her roommate, then I suppose no one does."

"Ron must be really upset then."

"Why would you say that?"

"He asked two girls today: one he ran away from and the other said no."

Harry was going to reply when they heard the door to the Interchangeable Room open. Roger Davies walked out, a bright and wide smile stretching across his face. "She said yes! I'm going with Fleur!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. Weasley trudged out of the room behind him. His face and ears were red. He went into his room, slamming the door shut. Davies passed by Harry and Bones, going into his own room, and before the door fully closed, the shout of "I'm going with Fleur!" reverberated out into the corridor.

Bones said, "See you later," before stepping towards her room.

"Bye," Harry replied. She closed her door and he was once again left alone in an empty corridor. There was so much talk of this Yule Ball that it was starting to drive him mad. He wanted it to be over; he wanted people to not take this so seriously. But when he remembered that he didn't have date yet, he could feel his palms go clammy and his face turn red. He had to ask someone, or he would be the only person without a date. And that was definitely something serious.

Not wanting to go into his room, knowing that Draco and Parkinson would be snogging, he went to the now empty Interchangeable Room. There were tables and chairs out, instead of the more comfortable couches and armchairs, which he would have preferred. Despite this, he made two chairs face each other and sat down, his legs now comfortably up. He let his head fall back against the curve of the chair, and he stared at one of the torches on the other side of the room, watched as the flames danced, licking the air.

As his mind began to wander he thought inevitably about the Triwizard Tournament. He hadn't been able to open the box from the first task yet, and it had been nearly a month. Of course, he still had another two months to figure out how to open it, but not being able to open it so easily was making him think less of his ability to win the tournament. If he couldn't open a box, how was he going to defeat the other champions? And what was in the bloody box? Didn't the judges want the champions to know what they were up against?

Well, Harry was starting to think he would have to do the second task ignorant of the clue and what it would entail, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Harry heard the sound of flames rising up in the fireplace behind him and heard the sound of giggles getting louder as one girl after another entered the room. He saw Angela Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Vicky Frobisher, and Cho Chang walk out of the green flames and make their way towards the door. He watched Cho gracefully saunter along with her friends. He knew he had to say something now or he would never do it.

Just before she left the room, Harry stood up, almost causing one of the chairs to knock over, and said, "Cho, can I talk to you for a moment?" He heard Vicky Frobisher giggle at what he said. Cho told her friends she would follow after, and then walked towards him, stopping only a foot or two away. She looked at him with kind brown eyes.

"Hi, Cho."

"Hello, Harry."

"Err…I was just wondering…willyougototheballwithme?"

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

Harry gulped, feeling his face grow red, and said, "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"Oh," was all she said at first. "I'm so sorry, but I'm already going with someone else."

"Oh, I see."

"I'm really sorry, Harry."

"It's all right."

"Okay, bye." Cho glanced at him quickly, and then walked away. He was curious and wanted to ask who was taking her, but was now too concerned with the fact that he still didn't have a date. The door closed, bringing him back to reality, and he too left the room, going back to his own occupied compartment.

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 21—An Apology Overdue:

Harry asks a girl to be his dance partner, gets an interesting and unexpected letter, and the Yule Ball begins…


	21. An Apology Overdue

"A man who has committed a mistake and doesn't correct it, is making another mistake."

-Confucius

**21**

**An Apology Overdue**

Even with the first few days of Christmas break underway things weren't looking too good for Harry, and it seemed to be the same for the other Hogwarts students as well. Not only did everyone have to find a date to the Yule Ball, but the Weasley twins had put out a plateful of small cream pies in the Interchangeable Room during lunchtime, and nearly half the students on the train had burst into feather. It was a good thing he hadn't seen them, or he would have been tempted to have a treat.

The Yule Ball itself was only three days away. By now all the pretty girls will have been asked already. Harry waited for Draco and Parkinson to go on a long walk outside on this sunny yet cold day to take out his Two-Way Mirror.

"Sirius. Sirius, are you there?" Harry asked, sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. He locked the compartment door with a spell.

The pale, hollow-eyed face of Sirius came into view. His hair seemed even longer and his skin seemed even more stretched than usual. "Hello, Harry, how are you doing?"

"I think I should be asking you the same question. Are you eating?"

"It's hard to get an appetite when you feel you don't have much to live for," Sirius said. But when Harry's face looked alarmed, he added, "It's not me, it's the Dementors. But don't worry about me, how are you?"

"I'm well, I suppose. But I wanted to ask you a question: How come you never told me Karkaroff was a Death Eater? You knew he was here with me."

"I just didn't want to worry you. You clearly have enough on your plate already, what with the tournament and all," Sirius explained. "Besides, I'm positive the person helping you in the tournament isn't Karkaroff. He would never put you before his own champion. But speaking of the tournament, how is it going?"

"We were all presented with a very…unexpected task – The Yule Ball," Harry replied.

Sirius smiled and his face seemed more handsome when he did. "I've heard of it. So, have you asked anyone yet?"

"Well, I asked a girl, but she was already going with someone else, so I don't have a dance partner yet, and I have to open the ball since I'm a champion, and I don't know who I'm going to ask, or if they'll have say yes, and—"

"_Harry_. Harry, calm down. Any girl you ask will be lucky to go with you. I'm sure the girl would have said yes if she wasn't already going with someone else."

Harry just shrugged.

"Is there someone you're thinking of asking?"

"No, not at the moment."

"Well, take it from me, sometimes you can have the time of your life with the girl that you never would have asked," Sirius explained. "Just keep that in mind."

"Thanks, I wi—"

Someone giggled the handle of the compartment door. And then tried again, as if it was jammed.

"_What is it?_" Sirius asked, his voice a whisper.

"Someone's at the door. I'll talk to you later." Harry placed the mirror underneath his pillow and then pulled out his wand. He unlocked the door with a flick and a whisper, and then pulled the door aside as he pointed his wand at the intruder. Draco took a step back, surprised, and asked, "What are you doing? And why was the door locked?"

"Oh, I was just…I thought I had figured out the box and I didn't want another champion to steal my ideas," Harry lied. He put his wand back in his robe pocket, as Draco walked past him into the room.

"So did you figure it out?"

"No. It's still a mystery, unfortunately. How was your walk?"

"It was nice. Freezing, but nice."

Looking at his watch, Harry saw that they had missed half of lunch, and voiced this to Draco, whose stomach growled in reply. They closed the compartment door behind them and made their way towards the fireplace. Just as they were getting to the Interchangeable Room, the doors to the room were opened by Susan Bones. She glanced at them, said shyly, "Hello, Harry," and then walked away.

Harry followed Draco into the room, but he hadn't gotten very far when he turned back and exclaimed, "Bones!"

Midway down the corridor, she wheeled around to see him. "Yeah?"

"WillyougototheYuleBallwithme?" Harry asked quickly. He could feel Draco's eyes peering into the back of his skull.

"Did you just ask me to the Yule Ball?" she asked, unsure.

"Yes." Harry shifted from one foot to the other.

"Then yes I will go with you." Susan smiled widely and Harry did the same, relieved that he hadn't been rejected. They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, but then she added, "Well…I'll see you later."

"Okay, bye." Harry turned around to see Draco staring at him from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, and he didn't have a pleasant look on his face. "What?"

"I can't believe you asked Susan Bones."

"She's a nice girl." Draco just shrugged, until Harry jabbed, "She's not a Muggle-born, so what is it?"

"Her aunt works for the Ministry of Magic."

"So does your dad."

"She's the head of the Department of Law Enforcement and she's part of the Wizengamot."

A few students came in through the fireplace, and so the two boys moved to a corner of the room. Through a window, Harry could see that the skies were a steel gray outside. "What the Wizengamot?"

"It's the Wizarding high court. It's where one would go for their final trial before Azkaban, or if a witch or wizard upset the Ministry."

"I'm guessing the problem is that you know people, or your father knows people, who were sent to Wizengamot for various reasons. And I'm assuming it didn't turn out well," Harry guessed. The door closed and they were left alone again. "But you know what, Draco, it doesn't have anything to do with me. Her aunt and the Wizengamot don't have anything to do with my asking Susan to a ball. Now are you coming to lunch?"

Harry moved to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. At first Draco remained where he was, but then he followed. "Forget what I said. At least one of us can go against what everyone expects of us and doesn't have to listen to a father." Draco stepped into the fireplace and threw down the powder and was gone.

Harry waited a moment, staring the white powder clenched in his fist. He supposed going against the grain was asking a Hufflepuff to the Yule Ball when he was a Slytherin, but it didn't seem like enough to garner the part. Even playing pranks on Weasley didn't seem to be enough. But then he wondered what he was going against in the first place. Was it his Slytherin self, or was it what people expected of famous Harry Potter?

* * *

Harry was awakened by the sound of paper rustling. He opened his eyes against the bleak winter sunlight and saw that Draco was opening presents, and he suddenly remembered that it was Christmas morning. He sprang out of his sheets to find that he just a few boxes at the foot of his bed.

Draco turned toward him and said, "Happy Christmas to you, too."

"Happy Christmas, Draco," he said, cheerfully, as he sat down on the cold floor and grabbed the closest box. It was flat and somewhat heavy and wrapped very badly. He tore off the paper without concern. It was a book called _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland._* Taped to the front of the book was a piece of parchment that read: _Happy Christmas, Harry! Wishing you well, Blaise_.

"Thanks for the present, Harry," Draco said, "it will certainly come in handy." He was holding the white quill, one exactly like the one Granger had given Harry, except this time Harry was the one giving it as a present.

"You're welcome." The next present was much bigger, and once he opened it he knew whom it was from, for the smell of sugar and frosting was more than evident. He saw a few red and green frosted cupcakes, though they looked as hard as rocks. Biting into one as a test, it nearly broke his front teeth.

The card said: _Happie Christmys, Harry! Goode luck with your nixt task! Your frend, Hagrid_.

Harry looked up quickly when he saw a flash of green, and realized that Draco had jumped onto Harry's bed and was now staring down at his presents. "Did you see mine yet?"

Harry picked up a perfectly wrapped box of silver and green paper. "This one." Draco nodded. Opening the box, he found a rectangular black banner with a large Hogwarts crest on it, and hanging from the bottom were stripes of red, yellow, blue, and green ribbon. He picked it up, feeling the thick wool fabric.

"So that wherever you go, you'll always think of home," Draco explained. He grabbed a cupcake, biting into it, but then immediately put it back.

Harry smiled. It was perfect. He could hang it up at the Dursley's when they weren't looking, and they rarely did since they couldn't care less about him. He wished he had had it when he was staying at Snape's. "Thanks a lot. It's great."

Draco reached across and picked up a small, rectangular box. "I see you got another one."

Harry hadn't even opened it, but he didn't have to. He already knew that it was anther Malfoy quill. "I'm starting to wonder what I'm going to do with all these quills I'll be accumulating." Draco laughed at he played with the string on the box. He put it down and got up from the bed.

"I'm going to get dressed and then see if Pansy liked what I got her."

"And what did you get her?"

"A necklace with a star charm on it. It sparkles at night."

Harry undid the string from Mr. Malfoy's present, as he heard Draco getting dressed behind him. "I'm sure she'll like it." The box once again contained a forest green quill and a note wishing him a very happy Christmas.

"Well I'm off."

"See you later." The door closed with a thud and he grabbed for his final present: a letter.

_Harry,_

_Happy Christmas! I wish I could give you more than just a letter, but at the moment its all can manage. I promise to make it up to you when I leave. We'll have numerous Christmas' with mince pies and eggnog and tons of sweets. Have fun at the Yule Ball and good luck with your next task. You know I'm always here if you need __me._

_Sirius._

Folding the letter and putting into the chest pocket of his pajamas, he smiled at the thought of having eggnog with Sirius by a fireplace in a home of their own. He would love to live with his godfather, the only family he has left. It would be excellent, a refuge. He sincerely hoped it would come true.

As Harry collected the ripped pieces of wrapping paper in his arms he heard footsteps outside his door. A folded piece of parchment was slid under the space of his door. He instantly dropped the papers onto his bed and ran to open the door, but by the time he got there he saw no one in the hall. For a moment he stared down the narrow space, as if the person would come back out, revealing him or herself, but no one came. He heard hushed giggling coming from a nearby room.

He picked up the letter and closed the door. He couldn't open it fast enough.

_I know I don't have the right to write you this, and this is not me telling you what to do by any means, but I felt I should at least say something. As someone who used to be a friend of mine, I felt that maybe it was owed to you. You can decide for yourself._

_First off, let me just say that I am truly sorry I ever wrote Sirius Black that letter. Believe me when I say that it was done with your best interest at heart. I had no idea that you wanted to conceal your being a champion from him. I wish I had known. I never would have written it otherwise._

_That being said, I should have_ _spoken to you sooner about the changes I saw in your behavior. It was just me attempting to block the truth from my mind. I had been hoping that Malfoy's influence would dissipate in time, but it's clear now that it hasn't, and that it quite possibly never will. But please try to see the path that Malfoy is leading you down and decide for yourself whether it is what you want, or what you think you want. _

_I know that you are a strong, talented wizard, that you are a freethinker, Harry, and I hope you use that in future._

_Good luck and Happy Christmas,_

_Hermione Granger._

Harry took a deep breath and read the letter again, and then again. He had heard all of this before. He knew she thought that he was going down some terrible path and that it was all Draco and Mr. Malfoy's doing, but this was him. It was all him. No one was influencing him; no one was forcing him to be someone he wasn't. If anything it was she and Weasley that was trying to make him into another person, this better person they thought he should be.

He was however pleased that Granger had apologized for writing the letter to Sirius. But he noticed that Weasley's name was absent from the letter, and he didn't care. An apology from Granger he could accept, but not one from Weasley. Not anymore.

Taking a parchment from his side table, he began to write a reply to Granger.

_Thank you for the letter. I accept your apology._

_I understand what you're saying about this path you think I'm taking, but the only influence I'm receiving is from you. You're making me out to be some noble and virtuous person that I'm not. Clearly I'm not evil or anything, but I'm not this person that you think I am. If there's someone you should consider giving behavioral advice to it should be Weasley, he's the one who has been acting very dreadfully._

_Let me add that Draco had no control over me writing this letter. This is me being a freethinker. Therefore, I am going to tell you that you are right: you have no right to tell me what to do. __Happy Christmas,_

_Harry Potter._

The letter was folded into a neat square, before he placed it onto the edge of bed while he dressed into a thick jumper, jeans, and old trainers. He left the room, with the wrappings still on his bed, and went next door. But just as he was about to slide the letter under the door, it opened.

Draco and Parkinson were staring at him. He coyly put the letter in the pocket of his trousers. "What are you doing here?" his best mate asked.

"I was just coming over here to ask if you guys wanted to get breakfast. I'm starving," Harry replied rather quickly. He looked from Draco to Parkinson and back.

"I'm hungry, too," Parkinson said. "Let me get my cloak and I'll meet you two in the Interchangeable Room.

Draco moved past Harry and went back into their room, as he just stood in the corridor. The door to Parkinson's room remained open and he could see that Susan and Granger were grouped together on one side of the room opening presents. Granger seemed to feel his eyes on her because she glanced up and for a moment their eyes met. But then Parkinson came through, closing the door behind her. Draco walked through their compartment door right after.

"Harry, d'you want to get your cloak?" Draco asked.

"What? Yeah," Harry replied. "You guys go on ahead. I'll meet you in the Dining Hall."

"You sure?" Parkinson asked softly.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Harry heard their footfalls as he went back into his room. He threw the shredded paper into the rubbish bin, put his letter from Sirius and Granger in his trunk, and grabbed his cloak. He quickly slipped the letter under the door and walked away. He didn't care what she said or thought of him. They weren't friends anymore, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be friends with someone who wanted to change him and make him into someone he wasn't. That wasn't friendship. If she wanted to be his friend then she would accept who he was. He had never tried to change her, and he never would.

Once in an occupied Interchangeable Room, where students were talking raucously about their gifts and McGonagall was sitting by the fire reading the newspaper, Harry glanced out the window to see that it was snowing heavily. The universe was adding more weight to itself.

* * *

Harry stared at his own reflection in the dark window. His black hair was slicked down as much as it would allow him, and he was wearing the green dress robes he had worn to Blaise's mother's wedding. He looked quite good, if he said so himself, almost dashing. He straightened the front of his robes a bit, and then turned to see Draco obsessively combing back every white blond hair on his head, while clad in gray dress robes.

"Not every hair on your head has to be perfect," Harry commented, grabbing his wand from his bedside table and placing it into one of his pockets.

"My hair always has to be perfect."

The two boys left a few minutes later to meet their partners in the Entrance Hall of the Durmstrang castle. Coming out of the fireplace, Harry saw that the room was brimming with students dressed wonderfully and colorfully in dresses and dress robes. He was astounded that the people around him were the students he had come to know, because everyone looked so different with their hair combed back or with make-up on.

Harry stood on his toes, trying to see above the heads of the other students, but he was too short. He couldn't see Susan anywhere. Instead of his dance partner, Pansy Parkinson came forward, dressed in pale pink, and took Draco's arm, smiling widely. After a moment of glancing around, a slender figure in blue sauntered through the crowd towards Harry, a shy smile on her face. Susan's hair was French braided down one side and then around into a nicely tucked bun, a few strands falling around her face.

Staring at her in wonderment, he blurted, "You look so pretty."

Susan blushed and said, "Thank you. You look very handsome."

Before Harry heard from Professor McGonagall, "Champions over here!" he saw Parkinson giving Susan a dirty look. He held out his arm and Susan took it, and they made their way across the marble floor to the other side of the room, while the rest of the school entered through the freshly-opened doors of the Dining Hall. Professor McGonagall was wearing navy blue dress robes and while her hair was still up, he saw thin blue ribbon twisted in with the hair of her bun.

Off to the side, Roger Davies was constantly staring at his beautiful date, Fleur Delacour, who was wearing a satin gray dress. Cho, dressed in silver, her black hair flowing down her back, was standing with tall Cedric Diggory. Krum was standing with his back to Harry, his muscular figure covered in red robes and blocking his date from view.

Once everyone had gone into the Dining Hall, the sound of indiscernible chatter bellowing from the room, McGonagall told them to line up in pairs. As Krum moved away, he saw that his date was Hermione Granger. Her usually frizzy hair was slicked elegantly into a knot at the back of her head and she was wearing a lovely shade of pink to compliment the flush to her cheeks. He could hardly believe it was her, and neither could Susan, who said, "Wow, Hermione looks beautiful."

They entered the room, but it looked as if they had entered another world. The walls were covered with silvery frost that glistened as they walked past and hanging in the air were dozens of circular orbs as lanterns that were glowing white. There were still some circular tables, but the center of the room had been cleared away, and only the outer spaces were being occupied by onlookers.

The four couples stopped in the center of the room, and as the music began so did their dancing. Harry held Susan's waist, as she put a hand on his shoulder. He wondered what his face looked like as he concentrated so intensely on trying not to trip over his own feet, or trip over hers. He didn't want to look like a fool in front of everyone, but Susan was smiling and she didn't seem to be worrying too much about dance steps, so he tried to relax as they twirled around.

Glancing around, he spotted Weasley standing next to a stern-looking Durmstrang girl, who he recalled was named Demir. He was wearing old dress robes with thick lace on the collar and cuffs that looked more like something a grandmother would wear. Harry had to stifle his laughter at the sight of him.

As the music played on more couples began dancing. Headmaster Dumbledore, eyes sparkling, was wearing light blue robes and a pointy hat, as he entered the center of the room with Professor McGonagall. Adrian Pucey danced with Roux, the redhead French girl, while Terence Higgs twirled around with Simon. The Weasley twins danced with Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, their red hair bright against the frosted theme.

The song ended, and a new one began, but Harry and Susan left the dance floor. They took a seat at a table with Draco and Parkinson, who were sipping white pumpkin juice.

"Pansy, you look so nice," Susan said genuinely.

Parkinson looked stunned by the comment. "Thanks…err…so do you."

"Would you liked something to drink?" Harry asked of Susan. But just as he was about to stand up, someone sat down beside him. He turned to see Rita Skeeter, dressed in a gaudy dress of gold. For once she wasn't holding a quill or parchment and instead was holding a fizzing drink in a frosted glass, but she looked just as inquisitive and nosy.

"Who's your lovely date, Harry?" she asked, glancing around him to look at Susan.

"Susan Bones," Harry said, wishing the reporter would leave.

"Bones, hmm? Any relation to Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Yes, she's my aunt," Susan muttered.

"How nice," Skeeter said, but Harry couldn't tell if it was a compliment or not. "How did you feel about this task, Harry, of having to find a dance partner and be a presentable champion?"

"I admit, it was unexpected, but it's a much better task than having to go up against Dementors."

"So you're liking the attention," said Skeeter loud enough for Harry to hear. A smirk appeared on her face. "And how are you feeling about the upcoming second task? Any reservations or fears? Do you still think you can compete with more experienced champions?"

Harry immediately stood from his seat, not wanting to answer any more questions. This night wasn't about being interrogated; it was about having a good time and enjoying himself. "I'm going to get drinks. I'll be back in a minute." Susan nodded, while Skeeter looked affronted.

The dancing couples were settling into their seats as Harry walked over to a table of drinks. He poured Susan and himself a glass of a bubbling drink that had a sweet scent. Turning around, someone who smelled of mothballs bumped into his shoulder, causing him to drop the glasses. He watched them fall to the floor and shatter, and the people nearby turned to see the mess he had made.

Beside him Ron Weasley was helping himself to a glass of white pumpkin juice while he laughed.

"What are you laughing at, Weasley?" Harry inquired. "I wouldn't find too many things very funny looking like that. Whose grandmother's clothes are you wearing?" This time it was he that laughed. He took out his wand, muttered, "_Scourgify!_" The mess of broken glass and still-bubbling liquid vanished, as Weasley walked away, a sour look on his face. Harry poured two more glasses and walked back to the table to find that Rita Skeeter had left.

"She left," Susan said.

"Good. Here you go." He handed her the glass, and he sat down next to her. The other seats at the table were now occupied by Terry Boot and Vicky Frobisher, and Stebbins and Fawcett, much to Draco and Parkinson's displeasure.

Frobisher was wearing a red dress that Parkinson must not have liked because she said, "Frobisher, don't you look…_lovely_." Parkinson turned her nose up at the Gryffindor, and turned back to Draco.

Warm food was brought to the tables by large-eared house elves. It seemed so out of place in the ice-themed hall. Nearby, Fleur was telling Roger Davies that they're celebrations at Christmas were much more magical. "We 'ave sculptures of ice zat do not melt and ze whole room glitters wonderfooly, and a whole choir of wood nymphs serenade us as we eat. Zis castle iz too dark for me."**

As Susan and Terry Boot got into a conversation, Harry, taking a sip of his bubbling drink, glanced around the glistening room. At a table on the other side of the room Granger and Krum were deep in conversation. Only a few seats away was Weasley, who was staring at Granger out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly neglecting his date and although she didn't look pleased about it, he didn't seem to care.

Dumbledore was speaking with Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and McGonagall at another table. It appears Harry's headmaster had just made a joke because he could hear Madame Maxime's laughter from halfway across the room.

And not far away from them was an empty table at which only one person was sitting. Severus Snape was using his wand to absentmindedly spin one of the lighted orbs above his head. Harry averted his gaze just as his professor leaned forward to reach for his drink, and from turning away he saw Rita Skeeter standing off to the side with the bald photographer, glancing around the room, no doubt waiting for something bad to happen.

"—isn't that right, Harry?"

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked, his mind being brought back to reality.

"All the champions have a wooden box that you have to open to figure out what the next task will be, right?" Terry Boot asked.

"Yeah, that's right."

"So, have you figured out how to open it yet, or what the clue means?" Boot leaned forward, almost putting his elbow in his plate.

"No, not yet. Believe me, a wooden box is a lot harder to open than it seems."

"They must have bewitched it really well, then."

"Hey, have you heard about the other champions figuring it out?" Harry inquired.

"I asked Cedric yesterday, but he's just as clueless as you are. And I haven't spoken to Delacour or Krum about it."

Harry nodded, feeling better about his inability to open this otherwise plain box.

"Harry'll figure it out," Susan said, smiling.

"Cedric will probably get it first," Boot blurted, and then seemed to realize who he was talking to. "No offense, Potter. It's just that he's older and more experienced."

"Diggory's head is filled with bubbles," Draco interjected. "Harry is talented and brilliant. He's going to figure it out first, and he's going to win this tournament." Boot opened his mouth to say something in return, but instead turned away, going back to his food.

Harry turned to his best friend and gave him a nod of his head as a thank you. Draco had never stood up for him before, but he was glad he had done it. The blond boy nodded back.

Loud, irregular footsteps sounded behind him, just before he heard the gruff voice of Mad-Eye Moody. "Seems as if all the champions have bubbles filling their heads this year, seeing as none of them have been able to open the box and figure out the clue. I suppose you'll have to be a little bit more patient, eh?"

"How much more patient do I have to be?" Harry asked. He turned in his seat to look at the scarred face of Moody. "I've been trying to open the box for a month now, and nothings happened."

"Perhaps it's not the actual waiting, as much as it is the ideas that will eventually come to you when you do." Moody gave him and Susan a crooked smile, and then continued his trudging down the room.

Harry looked at Susan. "What does that even mean?" She just shrugged.

"I find him a bit odd. There just seems to be something off with him."

Susan turned back to her plate, as Harry followed Moody with his green eyes back to his seat with the other professors. "I know what you mean."

--------

* The Quidditch book was actually given to Harry by Hermione in _Goblet of Fire._

** Paraphrased from _Goblet of Fire_.

**

* * *

**

Preview of Chapter 22—Yule Ball Mayhem:

The Yule Ball doesn't end well for Harry and his friends…


	22. Yule Ball Mayhem

**A/N: I just want to say that I am so terribly sorry that I put the story on hold for so long. This chapter, however, does not mean that I will be continuing with the updates regularly, but I will definitely try to update as much as I can. I'm going to try putting up a new chapter every two weeks on Friday. I'm sorry if you were mad at me for the delay, but honestly I was so good about updating until this time. I hardly ever missed a week, and If I did I let you know about it beforehand. I've wanted to come back for many months now, but other parts of my life are simply more important than fan fiction. I have tons of schoolwork, my computer has been acting crazy (and it still is, unfortunately), and life never seems to let up, it just keeps throwing more stuff at me. You all know what that's like, I'm sure./p**

**Anyway, thank you to the readers who have been waiting patiently and for those who defended me against those rude people out there. I hope you and your families have all been well during the hiatus, and I hope you aren't too angry with me! Enjoy the chapter!**

"Mayhem achieved, boredom relieved."

-Bruce McCall

**22**

**Yule Ball Mayhem**

As more and more people finished dinner, the center of the room began to fill once again with dancing couples, their hems being lifted as they spun around. The table emptied until Harry and Susan were the only ones left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glancing at him and then at the dance floor, so he stood up and extended his hand for her to take. Color rose in her cheeks, but she took his hand, and they went to the center of the room to dance.

The music got faster and louder, and soon he was jumping up and down beside her as the group sang along with the band. Through the colorful-clothed students, he saw Cho in silver dancing with Diggory, and Granger, her face as pink as her dress, with Krum. Harry felt somewhat foolish dancing, but following Susan and the beat of the music made it easier.

When both their faces were red and their mouths were dry, they left the dance floor. Harry went to get drinks. The long table with bowls of beverages and rows of frosted glasses was near the opened doors to the room. As he walked away from the pounding music, he heard people shouting in the Entrance Hall, and curiously went closer.

He recognized the strained voices of Weasley and Granger.

"—just friends, Ron!" Granger exclaimed.

"Just friends? Seems like he wants to be more than _just friends_ to me."

"Well, at least he figured out I was a girl before _you_ did."

At first Weasley didn't reply, but then he blurted, "He's much too old for you."

Granger sighed angrily. "What is this even about? If you're upset that I didn't say yes to you, Ronald, then next time there's a dance pluck up the courage to ask me before anyone else does!"

Harry heard her heeled footsteps against the marble coming towards him, but with his back pressed to the wall she didn't see him as she marched towards the dancing crowd. He walked towards the door, and glanced out to find Weasley sitting on the steps to the first floor, his head bowed slightly.

Maybe it was because he just felt like torturing the redhead more, but Harry stepped out into the hall and said, "You really should've asked her, you know."

"Do you ever mind your own business?" Weasley said through gritted teeth.

"Not really."

"Just get the hell away from me."

"I heard she didn't tell you who she was going with. But is it any wonder if you just go to conclusions?"

"Who the hell asked you? I said get the hell away from me!" Even in the dim light, Harry could see that his ears and cheeks were getting red.

"I think she fancies Krum. You can tell from the way she keeps touching his arm and from the ways she laughs at everything he says." At Harry's words Weasley glanced up quickly. It was the exact effect he had been looking for. The redhead looked into the Dining Hall, his eyes searching for Granger.

"Did…did she tell _you_ she was going with him?" Weasley inquired.

Harry simply shrugged his shoulder, not wanting to say yes or no, but Weasley stood up from the steps and began straightening his robes and hair. Harry turned away to go back into the Dining Hall, a smirk on his face, when he met Pansy Parkinson at the door.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Harry?" She glanced behind him at Weasley and Harry did, too, but he seemed too preoccupied with flattening his hair.

"Err…sure."

She grabbed his forearm and pulled him away from the Entrance Hall. He followed her around a corner and a few feet down the empty, dim-lit corridor. It was completely quiet. The sound of the band playing couldn't be heard anymore from there.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" Harry asked, wondering why they had gone away from the festivities.

"It's just that…" She glanced down at the ground momentarily, before looking up into his eyes. "I want to come clean. I…Well, I like Draco, really I do, but I only dated him…to get closer to you. You do what you believe it best. Draco only does what his father tells him to. You're so much braver than him, and so much kinder, and you're a champion in the Triwizard Tournament."

Suddenly, Harry felt her hands on his chest, pushing him lightly until his back was resting against the cold corridor wall. He could have resisted, he could have pushed her away, it's not like she was using any spells or potions, but nonetheless he felt somewhat entranced by the whole experience. All of a sudden she was leaning towards him and he was leaning towards her, and their lips met, warm and sweet and wet.

But then behind his closed eyes he saw a bright flash of light and a high-pitched laugh. Harry opened his eyes and stepped away from Parkinson to find Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend standing at the end of the corridor. They stood there for a moment, as Skeeter consulted her floating Quick-Quotes Quill.

From a nearby corridor, a voice asked, "Pansy? Pansy, are you around here?" Then, as if they had all been asked to meet here, Draco was standing at the end of the corridor as well, looking from Harry to Parkinson and back./

At the exact wrong moment, Skeeter said, "Hmm…what should be the next headline, Harry? Harry Potter caught in a lovers kiss? This is going to sell quite rapidly, you know." She walked away, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway. The photographer took another photograph of their stunned faces, and then left.

The three of them stood there for a moment in complete silence. Harry looked from his friend to the floor. He wouldn't even look at Parkinson. He didn't want to make things worse. But finally he couldn't take the quiet anymore. "It's not what it looks like, Draco."

"It's exactly what it looks like," Draco said very quietly. "You and my girlfriend were kissing behind my back. How long has it been going on?"

Harry was completely dumbfounded. Draco thought they had been snogging for ages, making him look the fool. "What? It was just this once, and _she_ kissed _me_."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Draco's voice was finally starting to rise.

"At the moment, yes! She came onto me, Draco. I wouldn't kiss your girlfriend. You know me."

"I'm not so sure anymore." Draco glared at him, his gray eyes seemed to pierce his very conscious, and then walked away.

Parkinson turned back towards him. She put a hand on his chest again. "Forget about him. It can be just you and me."

Harry looked at her and then stepped away, incredulous. How could she just forget about what had happened here not a moment ago? "And what'll happen when another braver, kinder bloke comes along? You'll go right along with him. You don't fancy me, Parkinson; you just fancy the idea of me." He walked away, leaving her in the dark corridor. As he walked towards the Entrance Hall he heard sniffling. It was any wonder he had heard it at all he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, but the sound was undeniable.

He looked down the last corridor before the Entrance Hall and found Susan around the corner wiping tears from her eyes. She looked so small and sad that he just couldn't leave her there. But when she glanced up at him, her eyes welling up again, she ran away down the corridor, and he simply didn't have the energy to follow her and make things better again. He decided to talk to her another time, when he could talk to her properly.

But all he could think about at the moment was the fact that he had just screwed everything up again with Draco, and although he wouldn't entirely call it his fault he still felt guilty. Draco wouldn't talk to him for days, if not weeks, now. And he wasn't sure what to do about it. What could he say that could fix this?

Hopefully, Draco would realize that it had been Parkinson who had gone behind his back, and not him, that he had just been strung along, that they _both_ had been strung along by her.

Harry sat down on the stairway and put his forehead in his hands. He used his fingers to massage his hairline, but it didn't help the thoughts from raging through his head. He needed to talk to Sirius. Maybe he would have some advice for him.

Suddenly, he realized that not only was Draco never going to talk to him, or Susan, but that a picture of him and Parkinson kissing was going to be in the next day's i_Daily Prophet_/i for the whole world to see. He would be laughed at and gossiped about by the whole school tomorrow. Everyone was going to be talking about it. And he had finally thought he was done with being part of people's rumors. He was clearly wrong.

Thinking about the people that had witnessed the kiss, Harry also recognized that it was odd that they had all been there at the same time. It was just too planned to be a coincidence. He stood up, his blood starting to boil, and went in search of Rita Skeeter. He found her sitting alone at the table that Snape had occupied previously. She was overlooking her Quick-Quick Quill, no doubt it was the article she would be publishing about him and the kiss.

"Who told you?"

"Pardon?" Skeeter asked, looking up from the parchment. She took her glass from the table and brought it slowly to her lips.

"Who told you where I was going to be? There's no way that was a coincidence. You didn't just happen upon us. Somebody told you. Who was it?"

"I think a better questions is do you fancy this girl you were kissing? You seemed very into it." She was prying. She wanted details that she couldn't get from a photograph. "What's her name? Pansy Parkinson, is it? It seems the Boy Who Lived likes girls with money and influence, does he not?" When he said nothing, she added, "C'mon, Harry, answer the questions! This article is going out later tonight to be printed in tomorrow's paper."

"I'm not answering any of your questions! Tell me who told you where I was going to be!"

Skeeter put down her frosted glass and sighed. "A boy came up to me, told me to go down the corridor, said it would be worth my while. Honestly, he sounded so excited about it I just couldn't resist."

"What did he look like?"

"Red hair."

That was all she needed to say. He knew it was Weasley. He should have known. Weasley had been standing there just before Parkinson had dragged him away. With all that had happened, with all his thoughts racing, Harry had completely forgotten about that.

Harry turned away from the table and bumped right into someone. The person asked, "What are you yelling about, Potter?"

Taking a few steps back, he looked up from the black cloak into the face of Snape. "I wasn't yelling."

"Skeeter, has Potter been bothering you about something? His presence tends to cause distress and mayhem to those around him." He spoke icily, turning his gaze from Skeeter to Harry.

"No, he hasn't been bothering me, Severus. We were just talking about the article I'm writing about Harry."

"Is that right?" Snape's dark eyes seemed to be penetrating his very mind, so Harry averted his eyes. "Harry Potter is getting another article written about him. I wonder what kind of light you're putting him into now. No doubt it's beneficial. We wouldn't want to _scar_ the reputation of the Boy Who Lived."

"That article is far from…_beneficial_," Harry spat, glancing at Skeeter.

Skeeter turned in her seat to look at Snape. "Harry's just upset that I found him and his little girlfriend kissing in a corridor, and that I got a nice picture of the moment. The world will want to know that the adored Boy Who Lived is growing up so quickly."

Harry looked at Snape, but couldn't read his expression. If they were at Hogwarts he would have had points docked for snogging in the corridors, but they were at another school. What would Snape do now? Give him detention? Frankly, he didn't care at the moment. He just wanted to leave this castle and go back to his room in the Hogwarts Express. He didn't want to be anywhere near loud music or laughing people.

Skeeter took another long sip of her drink. There was silence between them, though the room was practically shaking from the music, but it was when Skeeter said, "I've already thought of quite a catchy headline. Would you like to hear it, Harry?"

He couldn't take listening to this anymore. Turning to Snape, he said, "Give me detention if you want, I don't care. I need to get out of here." He turned on his heel to leave the room, but was stopped in his tracks by Snape's hand grasping his arm tightly. He gazed up into Snape's dark, unemotional eyes, as the man muttered, "We're not done here, Potter. Seeing as I can't deduct points, for you it will be detention. One hour, tomorrow, eight o'clock. Be in the Entrance Hall."

"Yes, _sir_."

Snape released his grip on Harry, who pulled his arm away and walked away. The high-pitched melodies became softer and subtler with every step he took away from the Dining Hall and the people inside. His mind seemed clearer in the silence, and it made him realize that although he wanted to get back at Weasley for what he had done, the more important thing was repairing his friendship with Draco.

Revenge could wait. His friendship could not.

* * *

Although Harry would rather have gone to his room to lie on his bed and not sleep, he was worried that Draco would be there. And although he wanted to talk to him, to fix things, he thought that maybe his friend needed some time alone to think. So after coming through the fireplace, he stayed in the dim Interchangeable Room, watching through the window as snow continued to fall, slow and heavy. The snow looked dark against the dark sky, and for some reason it made him even more melancholy.

He waited for as long as he could before he just couldn't take it anymore. His right foot was constantly tapping the floor, as were his hands against the armrests. He stood from the chair, threw open the doors, and practically ran down the narrow corridor. But when he reached his room, Harry stopped momentarily.

What if Draco didn't want to talk to him? What if he really believed that he had backstabbed him? What if he wanted to end their friendship because of this? Harry's heart sank as that last thought ran through his head. But he had to at least try.

Opening the door, Harry first saw that it was dark inside. It didn't faze him at first. People who are upset generally want to be in as dark as place as they feel inside. But when he didn't see Draco's body lying on the bed, he realized that his friend wasn't actually in the room at all. Draco must have stayed in the castle to walk around and think. However, it was when he noticed something else as he was closing the door to look for Draco that Harry got really worried.

Pointing his wand at a torch by the door, he exclaimed, "_Incendio!_" The flames of the torch cast its warm light around the room, illuminating Harry's trunk, which had been pulled open, its contents spilled onto the floor and thrown onto his bed. At first he thought it had been done to get back at him – that Draco had thrown his belongings all over the room to make him feel guilty, as if he didn't already. But as he started putting his robes, jumpers, trousers, and socks back into his trunk, he found that something was missing. Although throwing Harry's things around would probably give Draco some relief, leaving would do so as well.

Harry's Conglomerate Stone was gone.

As he ran down the hallway, used the fireplace, and made his way back towards the Dining Hall, he wished that he could do this on his own. He wished that he knew how to Apparate, so that he could find his friend without anyone knowing that he had gone, but he didn't know how to magically disappear yet, therefore he needed the help of a professor. The band was still playing, students and teachers were still dancing, and drinks were still being downed. He couldn't believe that it was only two hours into the Yule Ball; it seemed hours since it had started.

Harry stood in the doorway of the Dining Hall, staring out at the crowd of people, breathing heavily as he searched for his headmaster. And just as he was about to enter the room to find him on foot, a warm hand touched his shoulder and he spun on his heels to find Dumbledore standing behind him. His wrinkled face looked happy, his blue eyes were glinting in the light of the orbs above them, but at the sight of Harry's worried expression, his smile disappeared, and Dumbledore asked, "What is it?"

"Draco's gone."

With the hand still on his shoulder, his headmaster guided him through the Entrance Hall and into a empty classroom. Two people were following behind them, he could hear their footsteps, but Harry was in such a daze that he didn't look to see who it was. He was sat in a chair. He stared at the floor. He heard Dumbledore's voice, as if from a far distance, ask him to explain what had happened leading up to his disappearance. He didn't want to explain, but he knew he had to. It was going to be in the newspaper the next day anyway.

Harry gulped. "It started because of Pansy Parkinson…" He explained everything, almost, about what had happened that night. "I went to find Draco, but my stuff was everywhere and I realized that he had taken my Conglomerate Stone. There are at least half a dozen places he could be right now."

"Does he know where all the stones lead to, Harry?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"No, he only knows two of them: Malfoy Manor and the Slytherin common room."

"Where do the others go?"

Although his shoulders felt heavy, Harry finally looked up. "There's one that leads to another part of Hogwarts. One goes to the Burrow, the Weasley's home. Another goes to Spinners End. The other leads to…12 Grimmauld Place." He looked past his headmaster when he felt eyes on him, and saw Snape standing in the doorway. McGonagall was standing just inside the room.

Dumbledore turned to the teachers behind him. "Severus, check Malfoy Manor and your home. Minerva, if you would be so kind as to tell Karkaroff that I have left for a while, it will be much obliged. And then please see Arthur and Molly. I doubt he will have stayed there, but I would like to know if they saw him. I'll be going to London and Hogwarts."

pHarry stood up from his seat. "I want to help."

"Potter, I was not aware of the fact that you knew how to Apparate," Snape spat.

"I don't. But he's my friend, and I want to help find him."

McGonagall took a step forward. "Mr. Potter, you can travel with me if you like."

"No," Dumbledore interrupted. "He will go with Severus. I have a feeling Mr. Malfoy is at one of the places I have told you to set out for."

"Come here, Potter." Harry walked over to his greasy-haired professor. "Grab my arm."

"You can Apparate within the castle walls?" Harry asked.

"Durmstrang doesn't have as many restrictions as Hogwarts," answered Dumbledore.

Harry clutched Snape's forearm, feeling the warm fabric beneath his fingers. Somehow he knew that disappearing and reappearing wasn't going to be quite as comfortable as using Floo Powder. And he was right. One moment he was looking into Dumbledore's eyes, and the next he felt as if a giant's hands were compressing his body and head. Suddenly he was standing outside and it didn't seem as dark as it had been before. Harry let go of Snape's arm, staggered back, and threw up on the paved ground. He wiped his mouth and then walked back towards Snape, who was waiting exactly where had been before.

"Where are we?" Harry asked. They were standing in the middle of a Muggle residential street.

"We're close to a Wizarding community in France. It is too far a distance from Durmstrang to Malfoy Manor to Apparate just once. Grab my arm, Potter."

"We have to do that again?" When Snape didn't reply, Harry took his arm, and the sensation of being squeezed into a very tight space started again, and ended just as quickly. Luckily, he didn't need to vomit again, but he was a little dizzy.

When the lightheadedness had subsided, he found himself standing in front of the massive structure that was Malfoy Manor. He stepped back to see that some windows were lit yellow. Someone was home, but was it Draco? Snape moved to knock on the door, but it opened and his hand was left hanging for a second. Harry's eyes dropped for a few feet when he saw that it was the house elf Dobby. His eyes lit up at the sight of him.

"_Harry Potter!_ Dobby is so happy to see Harry Potter again! But Dobby is wondering why Harry Potter is here when he should be at Durmstrang Institute for the Triwizard Tournament." Dobby stepped aside to let the two of them pass. He didn't say anything to Snape, but glanced at him curiously.

Harry walked into the vestibule, where it was considerably warmer than it was outside. "We're looking for Draco, Dobby. Have you seen him? Has he been here?"

"Master Draco has not been home since the summer, Harry Potter. Master and Lady Malfoy are not expecting him until June." Dobby's eyes narrowed as he said, "Is Master Draco in trouble? I must get—"

From upstairs a voice spoke, sounding irritated. "Dobby, who are you speaking to?" Then voice was quickly followed by the appearance of Mr. Malfoy, who was wearing black robes that contrasted greatly with his long white hair. "Ah, Severus, Harry, how are you? What brings you here?"

"I'm afraid to say that we come here due to a worrying circumstance, Malfoy," Snape spoke.

Harry looked up the split stairwell at Mr. Malfoy, whose relaxed demeanor broke instantly. "What is it? Has something happened?" His face fell, and for barely a moment he seemed like a father instead of just a man, and then he regained his composure. He pushed a strand of hair back over his shoulder.

"Draco is missing. He took Potter's Conglomerate Stone and left Durmstrang sometime this evening."

Mrs. Malfoy seemed to sense that something was wrong because she appeared to Harry's left from the Great Room, looking distressed, her usually pale features were stained with blotches of red. "Draco's missing? What happened?"

Harry stepped forward, looking into her suddenly weary blue eyes and said, "It's my fault. We got into a fight. I found out later that he had gone."

"Do you know where he is, Harry?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry."

Mrs. Malfoy didn't say anything, but looked up at her husband, who glanced at her and then started walking down the steps towards them. Mr. Malfoy's cane clicked against the marble steps as he descended. "Where are you headed to, Severus?"

"My house."

"I'll join you."

"We have it under control," Snape replied. "I will inform you immediately when he is discovered."

"We?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

Snape seemed to pause momentarily, before adding that Dumbledore and McGonagall were also out searching for their son. Mrs. Malfoy didn't express either reassurance or concern at the discovery of knowing that more people were looking for Draco, but Mr. Malfoy scowled at the thought. Whether it was the actual people looking or the idea that more people knew his son was missing, Harry wasn't sure.

Harry stepped back and took hold of Snape's arm. The last thing Harry saw before he was compressed out of being was Mrs. Malfoy's eyes looking at Snape pleadingly. The last thing he heard was Dobby from somewhere behind him say, "Goodbye, Harry Potter." Suddenly, all he could see was darkness and all he could hear was the sound of crickets. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the nearly pitch black street outside of Snape's house. The inside of the house looked just as dark. No windows were lit. Harry's wellbeing was starting to deteriorate, and seeing the clearly unoccupied house wasn't relieving his stress or guilt.

"He's not here," Harry said, letting go of his professor's arm. "Maybe he used the Stone and then went somewhere else."

Snape didn't seem to hear him, or was ignoring him, because he walked up the steps and unlocked his front door with a flick of his wand. Harry didn't want to follow him because it was obvious that his friend wasn't inside, but after his professor opened the door and went in he grudging trailed after. It was so dark that Harry nearly bumped into Snape, who had stopped only a foot or two into his house. That was when he heard the sniffling. It was almost inaudible, but it was there.

**

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Preview of Chapter 23—Discovery:

The article about Harry and Parkinson comes out, he wonders if he can still remain friends with Draco, and he goes to his detention…


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